


#Bring1DtoTortall

by seven (sevenpoints)



Category: One Direction (Band), Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-12 14:30:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 47,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenpoints/pseuds/seven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: A new page named Niall arrives in the palace to begin his training to become a knight of the realm. Basically a medieval boarding school AU that takes place during The Immortals War quartet from Tamora Pierce’s Legends of Tortall.</p><p>Warnings: deals with racism, xenophobia and canon homophobia. Starts out gen but later chapters will be explicit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This may make very little sense if you haven’t read Tamora Pierce’s Legends of Tortal, which is a medieval fantasy series for young adults. If you have, this starts vaguely around the same time as the Immortals Quartet, but I’ve added more conflict in the Great Southern Desert, and shifted the focus from Daine and Numair to the ordinary pages and knights. The boys are all at the ages they were when they started X-Factor (i.e. Niall and Harry begin page training at sixteen instead of ten, yes I know I could get around that by making them Queen’s Riders BUT KNIGHTS), and the adults are a mish mash of real people and characters from the books. I’ve also made King Jonathan’s heir (who isn’t Roald) old enough to be a second-year page, even though this is still years before the Protector of the Small series. It’s a bit of a mess. I know it’s a mess. Pretty please play along?
> 
> A/N 2: I have made Zayn half-Bazhir in this story. I needed him to be a Tortallan noble so he could be a page with the others, but I couldn’t leave it there because native Tortallans are white and white-washing is wrong, and I have this vague idea to make the Bazhir more central to the Tortall-Carthak conflict so I needed a link. I recognize that this is still problematic because the Bazhir are based on medieval Bedouins, and Bedouins did/do not have much presence, if any, in Pakistan. Medieval Pakistan does not have a perfect parallel in the Tortall ‘verse, as far as I know. I considered inventing a country, but while I can futz around with ages and names, I’m really not smart enough to pull that off. Please know that I mean no disrespect, that I know that different Muslim ethnic groups have distinct histories and cultures, and that I fretted over this for ages. Oh god. I just wanted to make them all pages! No one is going to read this! I don’t know why I’m posting it but here we go!

Niall watched the other new arrivals around him nervously, doing his best not to fidget. They were lined up in the pages’ wing before supper, waiting for the training master to come and announce that it was time for their sponsors to be chosen from among the older boys. Niall didn’t know what would happen when he did. His family hadn’t had much of a presence at court, or in the capital city of Corus; his only brother, Gregory, had foregone the knighthood to attend university, where their father, Lord Robert, taught and conducted research. With no daughters to present at court, there had been no reason for them to make the long trip from their home in Mullingar to the capital, which also meant that Niall didn’t know a soul in the palace and had no one among the older pages to be his sponsor.

For a moment he brightened, thinking someone was trying to catch his eye, but the older page was actually winking at the new boy beside Niall, who grinned back, revealing a dimple that went well with his curly hair. They must’ve been friends, and Niall scowled inwardly. He had to be the only one there who didn’t have any friends.

The pages’ whispering fell to a hush as Lord Simon, their training master, entered the hall. To his right was a tall youth who gave the boys a shy smile, and those closest to them bowed with a low chorus of, “Your Highness.”

Niall barely had time to process the fact that he was looking at Prince Liam, heir to the Tortallan throne, before the training master spoke. Sharp eyes surveyed the assembly from beneath closely cropped slate gray hair. “With the summer’s harvests in, we turn from our homes to the defense of our kingdom. It is not a simple life you have chosen. You will work in all weather, when you are ill, when you are injured, and when you believe that you cannot possibly work any more. If you make it through you will reside in the pages’ hall for four years before being chosen by your knight masters as squires. You will have this evening and tomorrow to familiarize yourselves with the palace and collect the supplies you’ll need to begin your training the day after, with your sponsors to guide you.” With that, he turned to the boy at the end furthest from Niall. “Your name and your family’s holding,” he barked.

Splendid, Niall thought, as one boy after another gave his answer and received a sponsor in return, I’ll be left after everyone else has chosen, and everyone will have nothing to do but watch me stand here like an idiot when no one steps forward. He wished there were a girl among the initiates to draw everyone’s attention; it was actually possible now that the Lady Alanna had paved the road for female knights years before. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem as though any nobles’ daughters wanted their shields this year.

He was so distracted he jumped when the boy beside him spoke. “Harold, of Cheshire.” His voice was a low drawl and he seemed relaxed in the strange setting. Niall decided to befriend him if at all possible.

“Who will sponsor Harold of Cheshire?” asked Lord Simon.

Not surprisingly, the winking boy stepped forward. “If you please, my lord, our families are friends.”

Lord Simon looked as if he did _not_ please, but he nodded. “I trust you will not be teaching the new boy your bad habits, Doncaster. You may sponsor him. Now.” He turned to Niall, whose heart sank. “Your name and holding?”

“Niall, my lord, of Mullingar.”

“And who will sponsor Niall of Mullingar?”

Silence greeted him, stretching long enough for the older pages to glance at each other. Niall felt himself blush from his crown to his toes, and cursed his fair skin.

Lord Simon studied him. “Your family has not been much at court, has it? I’m not sure I recall ever meeting your father.”

If possible, his blush deepened. “No, my lord. He and my brother spend most of their time at the university.”

“A valuable service to the crown, to be sure,” Lord Simon replied. “One so unfamiliar with the capital will need guidance.” The silence held, and Niall did his best to sink through the flagstones and disappear. “Very well. Zayn of Bradford, I believe you have yet to serve as sponsor. It is a valuable experience.”

Niall was almost afraid to look as the page in question stepped forward and nodded. “Yes, my lord.” He glanced over at Niall, who tried to will his face into something like a smile. His sponsor studied him, his sharply handsome face intense but unreadable, before turning back to the training master without a single friendly gesture.

Niall wondered if it wasn’t too late to run home and beg to be sent to university instead.

“That’s settled then.” Lord Simon turned on his heel, clearly expecting the boys to follow. “Supper.”

The pages broke ranks. Harold and Louis gripped each other’s arms in greeting and hurried along to the mess hall before Niall could try to say hello, and he was left with the sullen-faced Zayn. “Um, hello,” he tried. “Thank you for agreeing to sponsor me. I don’t know anyone else here.”

Zayn smirked. Niall had a feeling the only smiles he’d be seeing would be mocking ones. “I noticed. Everyone noticed. Doesn’t your family ever leave their fief?”

Niall gave up. “No,” he answered flatly, walking after the other pages. He needed Zayn to show him around the palace the next day, and their classes the day after that. If the boy was going to be this unpleasant the entire time, Niall would sooner tag along after his peers by himself than waste time trying to win him over.

“Wait.” Zayn shifted, clearly uneasy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be an ass.” He still wasn’t smiling, but he did look sincere. “Lord Simon probably put me with you because I could stand to practice being nicer to people.”

Niall still wasn’t sure he wanted to be sponsored by someone who needed to _practice_ being nice, but he was willing to let his first impression go. He needed all the help he could get, even if some of it was unwilling. “All right. Hello.” He stuck out his hand. “Niall of Mullingar.”

The hand that gripped it was strong and callused from weapons practice. “Zayn Javadd Malik of Bradford.”

The full name fit with Zayn’s olive skin to jog Niall’s memory. “Your father’s one of the delegates to the southern tribes, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” They hurried down the hall, having fallen far behind the others. There was an expectant air about Zayn, and Niall thought carefully before speaking again. Ever since King Jonathan became the Voice of the Tribes, Tortall had an uneasy peace with the nomadic Bazhir, who lived in the Great Southern Desert. They were currently going through many complicated conflicts among themselves as they decided whether or not to form a centralized government that would send dignitaries to the capital. There was also the question of whether or not to establish public schools throughout the desert, which would conflict with the nomadic nature of the tribes. The crown sent delegates to moderate negotiations among the different leaders, hoping to settle things without the situation escalating to war. Many of the leaders did not appreciate the interference, and many Tortallans were in favor of striking out first, hoping to subjugate all the southern tribes and build a Tortallan empire to rival the Carthaki empire across the inland sea. Niall had learned of the different schools of thought from his father and brother, and knew that the debates were frequently complicated by an undercurrent of ugly hostility.

“He must be away from home a lot,” he said, lamely. Zayn’s face darkened.

“Yes,” he replied shortly. That was the last thing he said until he’d guided Niall through the mess. The two of them took their trays to a table near the entrance. Niall guessed that Zayn made a habit of sitting there; there were empty spaces to their side, and the boys seated at a distance did not greet them.

Niall lifted his fork, but Zayn nudged his foot under the table. When he looked up, he realized that the hall had fallen silent. Some of the pages had their palms pressed together, while others merely bowed their heads. At some invisible cue, they all looked up, and started eating.

Famished, Niall fell to, but couldn’t help asking around a mouthful of potatoes, “What was that?”

“Prayer,” Zayn replied, visibly pulling himself out of his gloom. He was clearly sensitive, and Niall resolved to be patient. “It used to be that the training master would lead the hall in prayer before meals. Then the kingdom started welcoming immigrants from neighboring realms, who had their own gods. The prayers got so long from trying to include everyone that they finally changed the custom, so everyone can pray as they choose and we don’t have to sit through a dozen invocations.”

“Brave new world,” was all Niall could say in response. He didn’t have to glance around to see that not everyone was embracing the kingdom’s diversity. The empty seats beside him made that painfully obvious. He cast about for a subject that wouldn’t add more tension to the air. “Um, do you think we could look around the palace a bit before they send us to bed? We have a few hours, right?”

Zayn nodded, thinking. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll show you the library.” Niall struggled with conflicting reactions; he did love books, but with a scholarly family there were times when he’d had more of them than anyone could want. Zayn glanced up at him and offered a small smile. “You’ll need it for your afternoon classes, and people about the palace are always sending pages to fetch them particular scrolls or books, so you’ll want to know how to find what you need quickly.” He was spearing vegetables with his fork, finishing his meal quickly, and Niall hurried to keep up.

He had a feeling he’d be doing a lot of hurrying over the next four years.

***

Niall enjoyed the library more than he thought he would, barely noticing the bells ringing every passing hour. They had it to themselves for the most part; since classes hadn’t yet begun, the only other people there were palace mages buried in their own studies. They did manage to pull their noses out of their books once they realized the boys were there, and Niall quickly learned that no one in the palace was going to fetch or carry anything as long as there were pages around to do it for them. He would have been hopeless at finding anything among the endless shelves without Zayn, but the older boy seemed to know the library like the back of his hand. He even relaxed without a crowd of pages edging away from him, telling Niall about the years of work King Jonathan and his predecessors had put into collecting the library’s resources, attracting scholars from all over the world to contribute to the crown’s knowledge. The only nation underrepresented was Carthak. It seemed as though Emperor Ozorne was loathe to share anything with his royal cousins in the north.

The more Niall heard, the more questions he had, and the more he asked, the more Zayn seemed to loosen up, giving answers when he had them and suggesting authors and teachers to consult when he didn’t. The hours passed so quickly that he was surprised when Zayn told him the last evening bell had rung, calling them back to the pages’ wing to sleep. He chanced a friendly clap on Zayn’s shoulder when they parted, making him jump, but when Niall’s grin didn’t falter he just shook his head, bemused. “Good night. I’ll meet you in the mess at breakfast.”

Niall went to bed happily. He had a friend. His friend was taciturn, standoffish and came with a three foot span of personal space, but he hadn’t thumped Niall for entering it, so Niall was determined to be optimistic. There were still more boys to meet, and many more things to learn. His mind raced with what he’d learned already, and his dreams were full of distant lands of sand and sun, unlike anything he’d known among the vivid green hills and mountains of Mullingar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'll be posting update links on Tumblr under the tag [#Bring1DtoTortall](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/bring1dtotortall) if you want to track the fic but don't have an AO3 account.


	2. Chapter 2

Niall didn’t let the empty seats beside them at breakfast discourage him, having decided the night before that it was time to stop playing the shy newcomer. He greeted Zayn brightly and didn’t mind the grunt he got in response; he’d always been a morning person while his brother was not, and he found Zayn much less intimidating after their evening in the library. He kept up a cheerful one-sided conversation going while the older boy nodded absently over his porridge, gradually waking up enough to catch the train of Niall’s chatter.

“Have you been telling me about your imaginary friend Michael this whole time?”

“Yes,” Niall replied, beaming at Zayn’s scowl. “Thanks for being such a good listener.”

“You’re welcome.” Zayn stared at him, moving the honey pot from the middle of the table to far out of Niall’s reach. “No more sweet things for you in the mornings.”

His porridge was already full of honey, so he didn’t mind, spooning it up and wondering what they’d be doing for the rest of the day.

“So did Michael come to court with you, or is he managing your affairs back at home?”

He’d been ready to count the morning as a win if he managed to get Zayn to say anything at all, so he was delighted to hear the other boy actually make a joke. “Oh, he followed along. It’s good we’re able to leave so much space for him to sit.” He gestured at the empty seats beside them, sparking a flurry of movement as the boys nearest to them snapped their eyes away, pretending they hadn’t been listening while Niall pretended he hadn’t noticed them leaning closer.

Zayn smirked, and Niall grinned.

His good mood lasted the rest of the day. They met Louis and Harold at the palace tailors when Zayn took him there to collect the uniforms he’d wear as a page in the crown’s service. He was happy to find that Harold was quite friendly, insisting that they call him Harry. Their sponsors eyed each other warily, but Louis at least was soon drawn in by Niall’s determined cheerfulness and Harry’s answering friendliness. Harry and Louis both had sisters at court, and their families had townhomes in Corus, the city surrounding the palace. They’d been friends ever since Louis arrived to begin training two years ago. The tailors loaded their arms with shirts, tunics, breeches, leggings and hose, and if some of Niall’s things got mixed in with Harry’s it was a simple enough matter to dump the whole mess on Niall’s bed when they got back to their wing, sorting it out at their leisure while they kept talking.

Eager questions kept Harry rambling about the beloved pony he’d left at home, so that when the bell rang for the noon meal they’d all entered the mess and sat down at Zayn and Niall’s usual spot without thinking. The kitchens had prepared a thick stew that burned their tongues before they realized they needed to stop talking and blow on it so they could eat.

Niall eyed Zayn, who looked a little stunned; Niall guessed that he’d had more conversation that morning than in his entire first year in the pages’ wing. His friend raised an elegant brow and shook his head wonderingly at Niall. Beside them, Louis had called to the other boys seated at the table, making introductions. Names and fiefdoms ran through Niall’s mind like water. There was another first-year named Sigan who was accompanied by his burly third-year sponsor, Cador of Goldenlake, brother to the famous Raoul of Goldenlake, Knight Commander of the King’s Own. A lanky third-year with blond hair was Leofard, called Leo, of Nond, and the fourth-year sitting across from him introduced himself as Conal of Mindelan.

Conal’s hazel eyes settled on Zayn with an unpleasant smile. “Of course, some of us shouldn’t need introductions, but then again, there’s no need to recall anyone’s name when you have no friends.”

Niall’s hackles rose, but Zayn responded before he could say something foolish. “I remember who you are, Mindelan,” he said evenly, “and I’ll remember this tomorrow, on the practice courts.”

That shut Conal up, and produced a lull in which Niall viewed his sponsor in a new light. Zayn was only a second year page, and not a particularly large one at that. It was strange that Conal backed down so quickly despite having two years of training and growth on him. Harry’s eyes were flicking between Zayn and Conal, then at Niall, obviously wondering the same thing. They shared a shrug before Harry turned to ask Louis if they were ever allowed to dine in the main hall with their families.

Zayn didn’t look up for the rest of the meal, finishing quickly. He got up without a word to Niall, who looked wistfully at the food still on his tray before nodding goodbye to Harry and following on Zayn’s heels.

He was jogging to catch up in the hall when Zayn whirled on him.

“Look, you don’t have to--” He broke off when Niall nearly crashed into him. His tone was low and angry, but the hands he put on Niall’s shoulders to steady him were gentle. “You don’t have to follow me around or make your friends like me, all right? I’ll show you the ropes, if you need me to, but you should go back there and stick with Harry.” He released Niall’s shoulders to step back, and Niall barely resisted closing the distance between them again.

“Why should I?” he asked instead. “What’s wrong with being friends with you?”

“Are you going to make me say it? You know who my father is.” More pages started drifting out of the mess hall, and Zayn pressed his lips together before turning on his heel and heading for his room. Niall didn’t hesitate to follow.

“Yes, I know who your father is,” he snapped as soon as the door shut behind him. “Baron Yaser of Bradford, formerly of the Bazhir.” Zayn sat at his desk, looking away, but Niall stayed on his feet, pacing. “There’s all kinds of rumors about him, saying he’s a spy for the southern tribes, but the crown honored him with a barony for his contributions to the Bazhir negotiations. It’s because of him that they’re letting us build ports on the southern coast.” He came to a halt beside Zayn’s desk, waiting for the other boy to finally look at him. “I’m sure he’s a very nice man, but as I don’t know him I don’t particularly care. I just know you, right? And it’s a bit early to be giving up on you.”

Zayn’s expression softened. “You’ll change your mind after classes tomorrow. They’re not all like Harry and Louis. Most of them are like Conal. It was a bad idea to let him see you’re on my side.”

Niall snorted. “I know a bully when I see one, and I’m not sorry.” He clapped Zayn on the shoulder, and was gratified to see that he didn’t flinch this time. “What I don’t know is where the armory is in this blasted castle, so maybe you could stop being a horrible sponsor and show me.”

Zayn’s lips twitched before he spread them in a full smile, and Niall nearly toppled over at how it transformed his face, crinkling around his eyes until he looked like a normal boy instead of a marble statue. “You’re either going to be the best knight the realm’s ever seen, or the worst.”

Niall grinned and followed Zayn out the door. “Won’t find out until I start training.”

***

He was going to be the worst knight the realm had ever seen.

The men-at-arms at Mullingar had given him some training with a staff and bow, but they were commoners and he was a noble’s son; their training hadn’t involved tossing him to the ground over and over to teach him the proper way to fall. Their instructor, an enormous Scanran named Iorek Balstad, was the Shang Bear. Shang fighters began their training as children and were unmatched in hand-to-hand combat. The Bear favored a style that was similar to the straightforward boxing Niall had learned at home, but they wouldn’t learn a single strike until they could catch themselves and roll properly when they fell.

He could feel bruises forming by the time they moved on to staff practice. He was also beginning to get a sunburn; while most of the boys were tanned after the hot summer, his skin remained stubbornly pale. Harry limped beside him; he’d turned an ankle in one of his falls, but the Bear only took him aside to wrap the joint before sending him back onto the court.

“My mother and sister tried so hard to make me get my mage’s robes instead of a shield,” he muttered. “I could be learning to conjure fire in a nice quiet classroom right now but no, I wanted Fief Cheshire to have a knight resident again.”

“You have the Gift?” Niall looked his dusty, battered friend up and down; he had none of the air of power that most mages carried.

“It’s not much,” Harry admitted. “I can conjure light and do some healing, but I couldn’t learn more at home.” Niall nodded; King Jonathan’s generation had been the first to receive formal training in magical arts, and the rest of the realm was slow to adopt the capital’s ever-changing customs. “I’ll be taking classes here, though.”

Niall nodded, a little envious; the Gift was one thing you couldn’t get out of books or training. People either had it or they didn’t, and as far as Niall knew there was no history of it in his family. “First, though, we get to whack each other with sticks while the arms masters call us names.”

The Shang Bear only taught them unarmed combat. For staffs, bows and riding, they had Sergeant Valdeo of the palace guard. His trilling accent suggested that he was from one of the western port towns. He walked with the controlled grace of a skilled swordsman, and observed the pages down the length of an impressively arched nose.

“You should have begun staff training well before you arrived at the palace,” he said by way of greeting. “Therefore I don’t intend to start you off slow. Form ranks. First years, pair up.”

Niall felt better with a staff in his hand. Harry, in spite of his complaints, was an excellent partner, and the two of them fell into an easy rhythm of strikes and blows, shifting fluidly when Sergeant Valdeo called out new patterns. The men-at-arms at home had put Niall through similar drills, and the movements were natural enough that he allowed his attention to wander.

Zayn was in a row just ahead of him and to the right. His staff partner was an enormous fourth-year, but Zayn matched him easily, his staff whirling almost too fast to see. Sergeant Valdeo was walking among the pages, correcting grips and stances, but he only nodded approvingly at Zayn before moving on.

Niall smirked, returning his focus to his own training. No wonder Conal had backed off so quickly.

“Change partners!” Valdeo ordered. “Older pages with the first-years! High strike, first-years blocking!”

Niall looked for Zayn again, but when the flurry of movement stopped he found himself facing Conal instead. He glanced around nervously, finally spotting Zayn where he was picking himself up out of a patch of mud and glaring murderously at the pages who must have shoved him.

Conal raised his staff, and Niall barely got his in place to block the blow.

“Time to learn the error of your ways, Mullingar,” the fourth-year growled. “There’s a price to pay for consorting with Bazhir spies.” His blows were heavy and irregular, keeping Niall from relaxing into a rhythm. Each block jarred his body from hands to feet, and it seemed that every time he blinked Conal had inched closer, crowding his guard.

“He’s not a spy, and you’re a sneak,” he hissed back, holding his ground. Sergeant Valdeo was approaching, so he only had to hold out until the arms master corrected Conal. Unfortunately, at that moment there was a cry; one of the other first-years had taken a glancing blow on the shoulder and staggered out of the line, cradling the injured arm. Sergeant Valdeo moved to examine him, and Conal seized the opportunity, feinting high before twisting his staff low to strike at Niall’s unprotected legs.

There was a horrible shifting grind, then pain exploded through his knee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in Song of the Lioness things are really tense between the Bazhir and the northerners, they're not featured much in The Immortals War, and then in Protector of the Small Zahir is walking around like a prince and the most conservative asshole in the palace is his best friend? This fic is partly me filling in the gap and imagining what it would have been like for the first Bazhir to live in Corus. I imagine they weren't exactly welcomed with open arms.
> 
> Fun fact: I named Iorek Balstad for Iorek Byrnisson, the armored bear from His Dark Materials, and his bear style of Shang fighting is based on the bear style in Seven Animal Fist kung fu.


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m going to _murder_ him.”

Niall bit his lip against the pain and didn’t reply. Sergeant Valdeo had called servants to carry Niall into the nearest building, which happened to be a stable full of donkeys, while Zayn had run for the healer who examined Niall’s knee now.

“I’m going to murder him,” Zayn repeated. “Slowly. With a blunt sword.”

The healer tsked. “Belay that, boy, and hold him down. His kneecap’s been displaced, and resetting it’s going to be nasty business.”

Zayn quickly complied, bracing one strong arm across Niall’s chest, pinning his arms to his sides, and the other across the tops of his thighs. Niall stared up at him, cold with fear, and the older boy did his best to smile reassuringly. The healer placed her hands on Niall’s knee and he set his teeth.

It hurt worse than Conal’s blow; his knee was already swollen and sore, and every nerve screamed as the kneecap slid back into place. Niall may have screamed too, but it was over quickly, the healer pouring her Gift into him, reducing the swelling and repairing the damaged tissues. When Niall could think clearly again he was surprised to find Zayn’s face ducked close to his own.

“I’m sorry,” he was saying, over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Niall tried to speak, but croaked; apparently he really had screamed. Zayn left to get him water without another word, while the healer helped him sit up and then stand, testing the joint.

To his surprise, it held. He grinned at the healer, who ordered him to sit so she could wrap it in a brace, and Zayn returned with a dipper full of water.

“Thanks,” he gasped when he’d drained it. “And thank you,” he added, to the healer. “My nurse at home had the Gift, but she never could have put on a healing like that.”

She tweaked his ear, and Niall felt the blood drain from his face when he realized she had brilliant violet eyes shining beneath her coppery fringe.

“Thank you for coming, Lioness,” Zayn said, extending a hand to help Sir Alanna of Pirate’s Swoop and Olau, Baroness, First Lady Knight and the King’s Champion to her feet. “I’m sorry I was a bit...”

“Frantic?” Alanna supplied, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Panicked? Distraught?”

Zayn blushed hotly enough for it to show through his tan. “...Yes.” He gulped. “I really am sorry. You were the first healer I saw, but I should have--”

“--Done exactly what you did,” she finished for him. She ruffled his hair, to Niall’s great delight. Zayn caught him grinning and thumped him gently on the shoulder, hiding a smile. “As for you, boy, your friend tells me you were practicing high blocks when your partner swung at your knees.”

Niall nodded. The Lioness hesitated.

“Will you tell me who did it?”

Niall opened his mouth to reply, but felt Zayn’s heavy gaze on him. When he glanced at his friend, he caught the smallest hint of his head shaking.

“I’m--not sure,” he said instead. “I only got here the day before yesterday.” The second part, at least, wasn’t a lie.

She nodded, her expressing rueful but approving. “You’ll do well.” She tapped his knee, and Niall was relieved to find that there was no lingering pain. “You’re not tired? Most people sleep for a day after a healing.”

Niall flexed the knee experimentally, then stretched his arms and twisted to loosen his back. Aside from the expected soreness from his training, his body made no complaints. “No, my lady. I feel fine.”

“He’s one of those disgusting energetic types who bounce out of bed in the morning,” Zayn explained, unguarded in his relief. 

Alanna laughed. “I expect they’ve moved onto bows now.” She made Niall do a few squats to test his knee before nodding. “You should manage.”

“Thank you again, Lady Knight.” He bowed deeply with Zayn, and Alanna winked at them both before striding out of the stable.

Zayn started to follow, but Niall stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He had questions, and there was no knowing when they’d have a moment alone again.

“Why’d you stop me from telling her about Conal?”

Zayn shook his head. “If you did, and he was punished for hitting you instead of just for breaking the drill, you’d get a reputation for telling tales, and none of the boys would trust you.”

“All right,” Niall said. “But what if I need a healer again?”

Zayn’s eyes flashed, but he controlled himself. Niall was tempted to give him a pat for good behavior. “It won’t happen again, but if it does, Lord Simon will be the one to decide if you need a healer. When he asks, just say you fell down.”

Niall snorted. “And he’ll believe me?”

“No, he won’t. He’ll give you punishment work, and you’ll do it. That’s how it works.”

Niall didn’t much like the sound of that, but he had a more pressing question. “Also, sorry for what?” When Zayn’s expression shuttered he shook his head, seizing Zayn’s other shoulder to make him face him. “You sounded like you meant it, so what did you mean?”

Zayn didn’t pull away, but didn’t meet his eyes either. “I’m sorry it happened. It’s my fault and I should have stopped it.”

Niall shook his head again. “I’ll sort Conal out on my own.”

“You mean he’ll hurt you again, maybe even worse next time.”

Niall pushed him away. “I’m not completely helpless! And anyway, being my sponsor doesn’t mean you have to fight my battles for me.”

He wasn’t expecting Zayn’s eyes to flash with temper. “So I’m just your sponsor again, am I? I knew you’d change your mind.” He shook Niall off. “I trust you can find your way to the practice courts now, so you won’t be needing my help again.”

He stormed out before Niall could respond, and Niall was left among the donkeys in the stable, feeling rather like an ass himself. Growing up among scholars had put him in the habit of processing information slowly and carefully, but Zayn reacted to everything so quickly he couldn’t keep up.

He walked out briskly, heading back for the courts. He’d sort out Zayn at the noon meal. For now, he still had his first day of training to finish.

Conal looked furious when Niall rejoined the pages at the archery courts, and Harry whispered that Sergeant Valdeo said he’d have to tell Lord Simon about him breaking drill and injuring someone. Niall wished the Sergeant had left well enough alone, but he met Conal’s glare steadily. He was far from discouraged. If anything, he was more determined than ever to earn his shield, just to show Conal that he didn’t scare so easily.

Archery provided a ready distraction from his personal problems. He was a good shot, but as soon as the masters realized it they made him trade his ordinary bow for a longbow as tall as he was. Lord Simon chose that moment to inspect the pages, taking them to task for their errors. Niall’s grip was all wrong; the longbow and arrows felt ungainly in his hands, and the long draw was hard to manage with arms that were sore after being jarred so much in staff practice. He swallowed his embarrassment, reminding himself that there were pages who couldn’t even manage the ordinary bows; more than one red-faced page practiced with blunted arrows, having been deemed too unskilled to be trusted with anything more dangerous. He spared one longing look at the crossbows, which could manage a longbow’s range without the difficulty of a long draw, then made himself focus on what his teachers were telling him. After they made him practice his draw for nearly an hour, he could manage it without dropping the arrow or taking his own ear off with the string, and was proud to get off a few shots that at least hit the target, even though they were nowhere near the center.

“Bows down,” Sergeant Valdeo bellowed. “Next you’ll choose your mounts. The first there get first pick, so--”

Niall didn’t hear the rest; he and the other first-years had taken off in a pack, and he was elated to find that his knee didn’t slow him down a bit. The war horses were stabled behind the pack animals, further away from the noise and clatter of the practice courts. For a moment it looked as though Conal was going to give him trouble, but the fourth-year found his path blocked by Louis and, to Niall’s surprise, Prince Liam. Louis winked, shoving him toward the stables when he would have stopped and stammered in gratitude, so he made a mental note to thank the prince later and raced up the hill.


	4. Chapter 4

He burst into the stables along with the main pack of first-years, casting about wildly. His eyes lighted on a gray that was observing the melee calmly, but alertly, and he lurched through the crowd, diving into the stall.

Up close, he could see that she was a mare. Her large bones gave her an ungraceful appearance, but she opened her mouth easily when he tried to check her teeth. They were good; she was probably under ten years old, enough to be steady but not so old that she wouldn’t have plenty of life in her.

The mare lipped at his clothes, and Niall regretted not pocketing an apple or two at breakfast. “Sorry, girl. I’ll remember next time.”

“Here.” Niall turned to find a hostler had stopped at his stall with a basket of apples, which he offered. Niall thanked him and took the biggest one he could see, which the mare plucked neatly from his hand almost before he’d turned back. “Her name’s Rabble.”

“Rabble, huh?” Niall stroked her nose where the hairs grew fine and soft. “She don’t look like rabble, do you girl?” The mare nosed him as if pleased with the praise, then gently pushed him aside to reach for the basket of apples. The hostler glanced around shiftily, then handed over another treat.

“I’m Stefan Groomsman.” The man was relatively short, only as high as Niall’s eyebrow, with a ruddy complexion. “I’ll be minding the stables for your horses and the knights’, but that horse is under your care.” He shuffled awkwardly before continuing. “Mind you do right by her. Else I’ll hear of it, and you won’t like what happens then.”

Startled, Niall could only nod. He’d heard that the palace employed a wild mage to look after the warhorses, but he hadn’t expected to meet the man in his first year. The horses were said to be growing smarter under his influence. Stefan seemed to be in a private conversation with Rabble, jerking his head at Niall and raising his brows. Rabble answered by lipping Niall’s hair, then snorting wetly in his ear, making him burst out laughing before sticking his tongue out at her and wiping the mess away on his sleeve.

“Saddle up!” Lord Simon bellowed. Niall waved a quick goodbye to Stefan and jumped to obey. Rabble was much taller than his pony had been at home so it was work to get the heavy saddle onto her back, and all the tack buckled correctly.

“All right, girl?” he asked. “Not pinching you anywhere, am I?”

Rabble snorted and tossed her mane, drawing his attention to the few hairs he’d caught under the strap. He fixed it quickly, apologizing, and hauled himself up into the saddle to follow the line of pages outside.

The older pages practiced mounted combat while the first-years were put through their paces, showing their instructors that they could walk, trot and canter their mounts. Rabble was clearly bored with the proceedings, wandering out of line to observe the other horses or follow the scent of newly harvested grain drifting from the palace stores. Niall did his best to coax her back into the formation, promising apples and a salt-lick as soon as he could get them. Ahead of him, Harry was struggling with a dull-eyed chestnut gelding, begging it to try something more spirited than a plodding walk.

Beyond him he caught sight of Zayn astride a buckskin that seemed to have some racing blood, judging by the high arch of its neck. What surprised Niall was the gleaming sword in his hand. Most of the pages wielded wooden practice weapons; only the most experienced boys were trusted to carry live steel.

Rabble shifted under him, and Niall offered a quick prayer of thanks for her large bones that told him when she was gathering herself for mischief. A gentle tug on the reins kept her from biting Harry’s horse and livening up the training with a good scuffle.

“None of that,” he murmured. “We need to be good so they’ll let us do the fun stuff later.”

She twisted her ears, annoyed and fidgety, but behaved. Stefan was in the stables again when they returned, and he had a quick word with the hostler, asking if Rabble could be exercised and promising to come back before his afternoon classes to groom her properly. Stefan approved of the plan, and put Rabble on a long lead while Niall explained to Sergeant Valdeo. The arms master approved as well, having noticed Rabble’s high spirits, and allowed Niall to run up the long slope to the palace while the other lads were still grooming their mounts so he’d have time to eat, groom Rabble and rid himself of sweat and dust before heading to their afternoon classes.

He was dashing back out when Zayn arrived, sweaty and clearly heading toward the baths. There was no time to be polite; he gripped the other boy’s arm and pulled him into a corner, ignoring his outrage.

“You’re not just my sponsor, you’re my friend, and I’m glad you have my back,” he said without preamble. “But I really have to sort Conal out on my own, or else the other lads’ll think I’m a coward.”

Zayn pursed his lips, suppressing his temper. “He’s a fourth-year, and he’s twice your size.”

“He’s twice your size too, and you’re not afraid of him.” Niall paused. “Then again, that might be because you’re the best page in the palace. How is it they let you train like a fourth-year when you’re only second?”

“I work hard,” Zayn replied shortly. He seemed to be calming down. “Are you going back to the stables now?”

“Yes.” Niall was counting his minutes, not sure he’d have enough time.

“Sergeant Valdeo should be there inspecting our horses. He’ll point you toward the baths. I’ll meet you there after I eat and bring you around to the classrooms.”

Niall grinned and gripped Zayn’s arm in thanks before running back down the hill. Zayn was a good friend, when he wasn’t in a _mood_.

He arrived just as Stefan was cooling Rabble down and perched on the fence to catch his breath; he had a stitch in his side from running with a full belly, and he wasn’t looking forward to marching back up the hill a second time. He groomed the mare as quickly as he could without missing anything, offering her the pear he’d smuggled out of the mess and renewing his promise of a salt-lick, but explaining that first he’d have to do very well in his classes so his masters would allow him to go down to the city. His wheedling drew laughter from the stable hands who were there, restocking the supplies of feed, and Sergeant Valdeo favored him with a rare smile before sending him to the large communal palace baths.

It wasn’t until he’d stripped and plunged in that he realized he had nothing to change into afterward. There were cupboards for the pages to store their clothes and combs, but he hadn’t had time to fetch anything from his room. He sighed, resigning himself to a brief scrub and another run through the halls, then cheered when Zayn appeared with a fresh uniform folded neatly on top of the stack of books they’d need for their classes.

“Thought you might need these,” the older boy smirked. “Can’t have you sitting through your first day’s classes in a towel.”

He sat by the bath to keep Niall company, dunking him when he flicked water on his clean uniform, and loaned him his comb so he could sort out his hair, which was bleached blond from the summer months and would gradually darken to brown by midwinter.

Their first class was reading and writing, which had Niall nearly nodding off after his exhausting morning. He’d known how to read since he was six, so the master set him to memorizing a long epic poem about Lady Alanna’s journey to bring back the Dominion Jewel that made King Jonathan master of the very earth that formed his realm. Its sing-song rhythm lulled him until Zayn resorted to pinching this arm to startle him awake.

After that was mathematics, Niall’s least favorite subject. It had been his brother Gregory’s favorite, so he did well enough, but the lifeless figures were even duller than the poem had been, and Niall found himself wishing he could get back to the archery courts to wrestle with the longbow again.

“All that energy had to run out sometime,” Zayn remarked as they moved to the next class.

“I’m not tired, I’m bored.” And cranky; the maths instructor had noticed his inattention and given him five extra problems to do for next time, on top of the five he’d already been assigned.

Someone jostled his arm and apologized, and Niall turned to meet Prince Liam’s mild brown eyes. “That’s all right,” he said quickly. “Actually, I wanted to thank you for earlier, when you stopped Conal.”

The prince smiled shyly. “Oh, that? Just an accident, really. I was trying to get to the stables.”

Niall understood; as the heir to the throne, Liam couldn’t be seen choosing sides in a petty quarrel. He waved to the prince, who was walking ahead to meet the older pages, and turned back to his friend, who was frowning.

“What’s that face?”

Zayn was watching Liam leave, his expression unreadable. “Nothing.”

He took Niall by the elbow to lead him to their next class. Niall was too startled by the physical contact to protest being escorted about like a maiden at court, or to press Zayn for an explanation for his behavior; he just let Zayn nudge him towards a seat and waited to find out what the class was. It turned out to be etiquette. Niall was surprised that the subject could occupy an entire hour every day. He soon learned, however, that his life away from court had left him unprepared for the array of bows, titles and dances that defined courtly behavior, and was frankly appalled by the time they left.

“I _hurt!_ ” he complained to Zayn, who laughed. “No, really, my stomach muscles are sore. How could anyone get sore from bowing?”

“You have to bow with your legs,” Louis explained, expression perfectly serious aside from his dancing eyes.

“But my legs hurt too,” said Harry, coming up from behind. “And my arms. And my arse. Are there any cushions in this palace, or do they make the king sit on wooden benches as well?”

“Only one class left,” Zayn reminded them.

“Yes, and it’s the best one, so come on!” Louis tugged Harry’s sleeve and led him on, still grumbling.

“What do we have next?” Niall asked. He couldn’t imagine what was missing at this point.

“History and the law of the realm.” Zayn actually looked pleased. “You’ll like Sir Myles, I promise.”

The knight in question didn’t look like anything of the sort, being short, plump and rather unkempt. The large eyes he used to inspect the pages were bright, however, and he had a map showing the Great Southern Desert, the Inland Sea, and the northern edge of Carthak tacked up at the front of the room.

“The fresh start of another year,” he said as they settled, “and a fresh crop of pages to swell the palace ranks.”

“And be ground under a millstone and turned into something useful,” Louis called out.

That got him the laugh he wanted, and the pages straightened in their seats with renewed spirits.

Sir Myles gestured toward the map of Carthak. “Who can tell me the name of the ruling family of Carthak? Your Highness?”

“The Iliniats,” the prince responded promptly. “The current emperor is Ozorne, and his nephew Kaddar is his heir.”

“Correct. And what riches do they possess? Leofard?”

The tall blond seemed unprepared. “Spices?” he guessed. “Gold?”

Sir Myles nodded. “And something else, less tangible.”

“Magic.” Zayn’s answer startled Niall; he’d been nearly silent in their other classes.

“Yes, magic.” Myles perched on a tall stool. He led the class through a discussion of the empire’s greatest feat to date: the construction of the Divine Barrier, which trapped the immortal beings who preyed on humans in the Divine Realms of the gods. Niall found himself leaning forward, eager to catch every word. He’d never had a lesson where the students spoke as often as the master.

“And what riches are they lacking?” Myles asked next, after they’d exhausted the history of the empire’s famed university and the closely guarded secrets of its libraries.

“Rain,” Harry supplied. He’d been in the thick of the discussion, having spent the last year accompanying his older sister to society events, where he’d heard all the latest talk.

Myles nodded gravely. “Yes, rain. Word has spread of droughts throughout the southern lands, and Emperor Ozorne has indicated that he may be willing to increase the trade across the Inland Sea.” He paused. “How else might Carthak feed its people?”

This one Niall could guess. “Conquest.” 

His answer provoked a grim silence. The notion of a hungry neighbor that possessed the largest military in the world, as well as an unknown number of powerful mages, did not bode well.


	5. Chapter 5

Everyone jumped when the bell rang, heralding the end of their lessons, but not their discussion. The company at supper was greatly improved by the removal of Conal and the addition of Liam, who urged the new pages to forget his title, and the boy he was sponsoring, Eamon haMinch, whose fief bordered on Mullingar. He grinned at Niall when introduced, but the two hadn’t met before, as Eamon’s father was one of King Jonathan’s chief advisors and brought his family to live at court.

Niall sighed inwardly. He vowed that any child of his would be known by the other noble families of the realm.

“Carthak would have to be mad to attack us from the south,” Louis was saying. “They’d have to cross the desert to reach us, and while the Bazhir don’t always accept our interference, they won’t hesitate to fight alongside us to defend our lands.” He grinned at Zayn’s surprise, and Niall willed his friend to smile in return.

Zayn’s lips curved, faintly, before he ducked his head over his meal. Niall sighed to himself, again. It was progress.

“But the Southern Desert is unfortified,” Liam said quietly, “and the Dominion Jewel is less useful, with so few plants and so many dunes.”

“Sand storms?” Sigan suggested. 

Zayn shook his head. “It would be almost impossible to control them with no valleys to limit their spread,” he explained. “King Jonathan would probably wipe out our soldiers as well as theirs.” Everyone turned, clearly curious about more than just Zayn’s opinions on the possibility of war in the south. He stilled under the attention, but continued. “On the other hand, the Carthaki military is designed for the siege of coastal cities. All their barges and catapults won’t do them any good in the desert.”

“But on the other other hand,” Niall added, making them laugh, “their military is better equipped for the desert. Better adapted, too. If you sent me to fight there I’d be lobster red in five minutes.”

Harry swallowed a lump of food and tugged his sleeve. “I meant to tell you: the healers have a balm that will keep you from burning. You’ll just need to rub it on before you go outside.”

Niall brightened; down the table, Sigan did too. His cheeks were red under his freckles. “Do you think they’ll let us get it now?” the latter asked. “Or do we have to buy it in the city?”

“The palace healers could probably be encouraged to give you some,” Harry replied, raising his eyebrows; he meant a bribe. While all healers had a sacred duty, it didn’t seem to cover luxury items like the balm Harry described. Niall was glad his father had supplied him with a purse for such expenses. He turned to Zayn with a hopeful smile.

The other boy rolled his eyes. “Yes, we can go there after supper.” He leaned around Niall to find Cador, Sigan’s sponsor. “I can show Sigan as well, if you like.”

Cador agreed, telling Sigan he’d be doing his classwork in the library. This prompted everyone to agree to study in the library after supper. Niall stood, recalling the extra work he had to do, and followed Zayn with Sigan to collect their belt purses, then on to the healers wing.

The only healer there was bored and irritable, having been left to sit up while his fellows relaxed for the evening. He was unimpressed by Niall’s most coaxing grin, telling the boys they’d have to wait until they had leave to visit the city to buy their balm.

Niall was trading disappointed looks with Sigan and resigning himself to getting scorched again the next day when Zayn slipped past them.

“That’s an interesting pendant you’re wearing,” he said to the healer, leaning over with one hand braced on his desk. He extended the other to touch the carved jade nestled at the healer’s throat. “What did you say your name was again?”

The healer swallowed, seemingly caught in Zayn’s eyes. “I didn’t. It’s Desmond.”

“Desmond,” Zayn repeated, his voice low. Intimate, really, and Niall felt himself coloring further when he realized Zayn was _flirting_. “I love that name.” He smiled gently, and it was like a glass wall came down, sealing Zayn and the healer inside a private world for two.

“Look, Desmond,” Zayn continued, “You’d really be doing yourself a favor if you’d let these two trade you some silver for a bit of that balm. Otherwise they’ll be coming in here with burns every day until winter, and even then, with the snow glare it probably won’t stop.” He leaned just a touch closer, lowering his voice until it was almost a purr. “I’d hate to think of you wasting time with sunburns when you could be doing so many more...important things.”

***

“That was _inspiring_ ,” Sigan marveled. They were headed back to their part of the palace with one jar of balm apiece. The healer had been so flustered by the end that he’d given one to Zayn as well, even though he’d only asked for two, and he accepted it, slipping a bit of his own silver across the desk as payment.

“How did you know that would work?” Niall wanted to know. It wasn’t unheard of for people in Tortall to prefer the company of their own gender, but it wasn’t something they did openly either.

“The pendant,” Zayn explained. “It was the Yamani character for ‘forbidden love.’ The Yamanis don’t make people hide like we do, so people here have started wearing their tokens as a byword.”

“Yes, but how did you know _that?_ ” Niall asked.

“My father learned it from Baron Piers, the Yamani ambassador, at a delegate’s meeting here in the capital. I heard him telling my mother.”

Sigan whistled. “I’ll bet he never thought you’d put that information to such use.” They’d arrived at his room in the pages’ wing and stopped. “I need to get my books. Are you two coming to the library?”

Niall glanced at Zayn. He didn’t decline, but his shoulders were set as if he were about to wade into battle rather than spend an evening with their friends.

“I think I’ll study in my room actually,” Niall said. “I have to memorize that poem and I feel foolish reading it in front of people.”

“Do you need help with it?” Zayn asked quickly.

Niall hid a smirk. “Would you? I’ll need someone to keep me awake.”

They said their goodbyes to Sigan and continued down to Niall’s room, stopping at Zayn’s for his books along the way. Niall groaned as soon as he saw his bed, rolling onto it and batting weakly when Zayn prodded him. “Just a few minutes.”

“You said you needed me to keep you awake. I have my own work to do so,” Zayn hauled him onto his feet. “Wake up!”

He made Niall wrestle with his math problems at his desk where he’d have a harder time nodding off, spreading his own work across the bed. They studied in companionable silence until Zayn shifted, the heel of his foot hitting something under the bed with a hollow _thunk_.

He jumped to his feet when Niall dove for the edge of the bed, carefully drawing out a large bundle tied up in a canvas. He set it on his desk and unwrapped it, revealing a guitar with beautifully carved sides.

Zayn whistled. He’d seen similar instruments played by minstrels at court, but never one so finely made. “I haven’t hurt it, have I?”

“I don’t think so.” Sitting down, Niall cradled it across his thighs, striking a clear, ringing chord. “Sorry, I just panicked. I think it’s fine.”

“Can you really play it?” Zayn asked. “The etiquette master tried to make me learn the flute last year, but I was so terrible he let me stop rather than keep listening.”

Niall gasped in exaggerated shock. “You mean there’s something you _can’t_ do?” He expected a thump for his cheek, but Zayn ruffled his hair instead.

“Just go on and give us a strum, Mullingar.”

Niall complied happily, privately quelling a wave of homesickness as he played one of the simple melodies he’d learned as a child. Zayn sank onto the bed as he listened, his eyes on Niall’s hands pressing and plucking the strings. 

After the first verse, Niall stopped with a groan. “I really can’t do this now. I still have that poem to learn.”

Zayn let out a groan of his own. “I’ve got a report on the history of civil conflict in Scanra. All the different clan names are swimming together.”

They took a last look at the guitar before Niall wrapped it again, carefully tucking it out of sight but not out of mind; halfway through his poem, Niall found himself tapping his foot while Zayn hummed the melody absently.

At length the bells called everyone to bed. Zayn gathered his things to go, including the extra jar of balm. “Oh, I’ll buy that from you if you like,” Niall offered.

Zayn tossed the jar in the air before tucking it securely against his chest. “I think I’ll keep it. You and Sigan will forget I have it, so I’ll get to be your hero when you run out of yours.”

Niall squirmed; he didn’t like the feeling of being in debt, and resolved to find a way to return the favor later. “Don’t know why he gave it to you when you tan so well.”

Zayn cocked his head, smirking. “If you need me to explain that to you, you’re even younger than you look.”

A blush crept up his neck, reddening the few spots that hadn’t already scorched under the sun. “Well, I guess, I can imagine why someone would want to...” Zayn’s smirk deepened, and Niall threw up his hands. “Oh go on, you know what you look like. He would have handed over anything if you kept fluttering at him.”

Zayn winced. “I do feel a bit guilty, but he was being a prat about accepting your nice bribes.” Outside, pages were calling goodnight to one another as they settled in their rooms for lights out. Zayn opened his mouth to do the same, but Niall needed to get one last thing off his chest.

“It’s all right, you know,” he blurted. “I mean, if you prefer men too. I’m not asking you to tell me!” he added quickly. “I know it’s none of my business. I just wanted you to know that if you do, I--I mean, you’re my friend already, it’d be foolish to change that over nothing.”

Zayn blinked, and Niall feared he’d misspoken.

“I do, actually,” he replied softly. “So I hope you mean that.”

The door shut behind him just as quietly, and Niall turned the new information over in his mind as he undressed and cleaned his teeth. So Zayn liked men. Did Zayn like him? That way? He let himself consider it for a few seconds, then abandoned the idea; Zayn was handsome, alluring and athletic. Niall was pasty and scrawny and, while he had no trouble making friends, no one had ever looked at him with longing the way Desmond had looked at Zayn.

He shook his head. He couldn’t think about things like that; it was inappropriate for a page to court anyone, so he had until he earned his shield to sort himself out.

When he crawled into bed, his last thought was that the blanket was still warm from Zayn’s presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Minchis in the book have Irish names, so in my head haMinch and Mullingar have become Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. 
> 
> 2\. Wikipedia told me they had guitar-ish things in Medieval Europe so I rolled with it.


	6. Chapter 6

Niall nearly fell out of bed the next morning. His legs were stiff and aching from sprinting up and down the hill to the stables, and his arms, chest and back were sore from his work with the longbow. Dressing was nearly impossible when he could hardly move, and he wound up with a stinging eyeful of balm when he tried to spread it on his face.

Cursing and half-blinded, he stumbled down the hall to knock on Zayn’s door.

“Help!” he pleaded as soon as it opened.

Zayn ushered him in to perch on his desk. He used a drying cloth to gently wipe the balm out of Niall’s streaming eyes, then rubbed the rest in carefully. “I’m surprised Michael couldn’t help you with this.”

Niall blanked, trying to remember if that was a page he’d met, then remembered his inane chatter from the previous morning. “Oh, he went home last night. Said he thought I’d be well looked-after and he wanted to be about his own business.”

In return, he held Zayn’s mirror for him while he shaved, sighing with envy and stroking his own smooth chin. 

Zayn laughed at him, then grimaced. “Ugh, it’s contagious.”

“What is?”

Zayn gestured at Niall; with his eyes clear and his body slowly loosening up the more he moved, he was back to being his usual cheerful self. “That pain-in-the-arse morning person thing.” He did his best to scowl while Niall snickered, following him out to the mess.

This time he remembered to pocket some fruit for Rabble, feeling uneasy about the bulge in his rough training breeches before Zayn told him they were allowed to take away extra food and he wasn’t actually stealing. They had a brief scuffle when Zayn tried to keep the honey-pot away from him, aided this time by Harry, who had glared in response to Niall’s energetic greeting. It disappeared further down the table, only to be smuggled back by Louis and Sigan. He was already drizzling it over his porridge before Zayn caught on.

Iorek Balstad snorted when the pages lurched into his training yard, and had them all run laps to warm up. By the time he finally let them stop, Niall couldn’t tell if it had made things better or worse; at any rate it certainly made him better at falling when the Bear tossed him. It was the catching himself part that was still tricky.

He had to resist the urge to lean on his staff when they moved to the next practice yard. He wasn’t alone. Most of the pages were exhausted, even the older ones. It seemed they hadn’t kept up their training over the summer, but their masters made few allowances. Zayn was one of the few who weren’t dead on their feet, which boded ill for Conal when they paired up and he found himself facing the smaller boy’s cold eyes.

Unlike Conal, Zayn didn’t need to break drill to teach someone a lesson. He stayed perfectly in time with the others, but his blocks shoved Conal off balance so that his strikes could find Conal’s fingers. When his partner yelped, the masters corrected Conal’s stance, not Zayn’s technique. Conal tried to adjust, shifting his hands to avoid the blows, and promptly dropped his staff, just as Zayn whipped his around to strike at his ribs.

Zayn didn’t even have to pretend it was an accident. He was as surprised as everyone else when Conal cried out and went down hard, clutching his side. Sergeant Valdeo ordered a halt.

Niall and Zayn’s eyes met across the yard as the sergeant examined Conal. Niall didn’t know what to think. Conal was a bully and he needed to be dealt with, but he’d wanted to do it himself. The arms master sent Conal to the healers, and Niall caught the words “broken ribs” being whispered throughout the yard.

“Back in formation!” Sergeant Valdeo barked. “Older pages with the new boys!”

This time no one interfered when Zayn headed straight for him. Niall wanted to ask him what in Mithros’ name he’d been doing but he had to concentrate; Zayn was an intimidating partner even when he wasn’t out for blood. 

They couldn’t talk in the archery range either. The senior pages were quizzed on the different types of arrows and quarrels, while Niall discovered that he couldn’t learn a new skill without picking up a new bad habit to go with it. If his draw was good his stance was wrong, and if he corrected his stance he caught the soft inside of his wrist with the string when he released. There were gloves that archers used to protect themselves, but his masters considered the bruises to be part of his instruction; he wouldn’t be given gloves until he could demonstrate the correct technique consistently.

By the time he made it to the stables for the last lesson on horseback he was glad to see a friendly face. Rabble quickly found the fruit he’d brought her then continued to inspect him roughly, nosing his sides, face and underarms and making him laugh until his overworked stomach muscles ached anew. She finished by snorting lightly in his ear again, thankfully this time with blowing a gob of snot on him, and stood placidly while he saddled her, taking care to not trap any hairs this time.

That day the new pages steered their mounts through a series of hurdles. Knights normally rode alone, or in organized columns, but they also needed to be able to weave their mounts through forests and city crowds, and in the thick of battle there was no telling what obstacles they might meet. The mounts learned to receive guidance from the reins and also from their riders’ knees, so they’d be able to ride while carrying weapons in both hands. More than one horse stood stock-still with their reins hanging loose about their heads while the pages rocked and wriggled in the saddle, trying to make them understand what was wanted.

Spectators had gathered around the edges of the field. Some were full knights, come to inspect the older pages they might someday take into knight-service as squires. One was a girl, about Niall’s age or a bit younger, with thick head of smoky brown curls. Her companion was a woman with the small frame and dark features of the K’mir. They seemed to be having a good laugh at the pages.

“The K’miri woman is Onua.” Harry guided his mount to stand beside Niall’s while they waited for another turn at the obstacle course. “She’s with the Queen’s Riders. I don’t know who the girl is; she must be new.”

“Must be, if you don’t know her.” He was going to say more, but Rabble chose that moment to jerk out of line and approach the fence, headed straight for the girl in question. Tugging on the reins was no help, and Niall shut his eyes in humiliation when he heard Sergeant Valdeo bellowing for him to get back in line.

“I’m sorry!” the girl said when they reached the fence. To Rabble she added, “Now you’ve done it. I won’t be able to come back and visit if you do this everytime I come ‘round.” Rabble lipped at her, but she stood back with her hands on her hips, staring the mare down until she hung her head and pawed the ground sheepishly.

Niall whistled. “Even Stefan can’t do that.”

“Daine here’s a wild mage,” the strange woman explained, and Niall gave himself a mental kick for bad manners.

“Excuse my rudeness,” he said. “I’m Niall of Mullingar. I’d shake your hands but Sergeant Valdeo said he’d sew my seat to my saddle if he saw air under my rump today.”

Beside her, the girl had consented to give Rabble the strokes she’d wanted. “I’m Daine, and this is Onua. I’m sorry if I’ve gotten you in trouble. I don’t have much control over my magic yet.” She cocked her head at Rabble for a moment, then smiled. “This girl says you’re very sweet, and she’s sorry too.”

“She should be, with the way she bullies me.” There was the sound of approaching hooves; turning, he was alarmed to see all the pages’ mounts had broken away to meet Daine. Some of their riders held weapons carefully overhead where they wouldn’t hurt anyone, while others had no riders at all, having dumped them on the field before coming over.

Daine was on the inside of the fence in a flash, quelling the horses and making red-faced apologies to the furious Sergeant Valdeo, promising to stay away from the pages’ training from then on. Onua joined her, supporting the girl’s claim of wild magic.

It was enough to get Niall and the others out of punishment work, particularly since Sergeant Valdeo hadn’t been able to keep his own destrier from running to Daine either. Returning to their training soon quieted them, and by the end of the hour Niall was able to turn Rabble with his knees, though he couldn’t control her paces yet.

This time when Niall bathed he did so with all of the other pages jostling for space and doing their best to drown each other. He had a good laugh at Harry: while most of them had brown faces and arms with pale bodies, Harry was tanned evenly all over. Louis carried on about Harry’s habit of gallivanting naked over the hills and dales of Cheshire and Harry insisted that he simply enjoyed swimming in a sunny stream on his family’s private lands. Louis’ painfully anatomical description of the dangers of riding in the buff had Niall roaring with laughter until one of his feet slipped out from under him and sent him sliding against the boy behind him.

Strong hands caught him by the arms and he tipped his head back to identify his rescuer. It was Zayn. 

He flailed a little and found his feet, blushing and not really understanding why. He followed when Zayn climbed out of the bath, although he did his best to look anywhere but at his friend’s body. The two of them dressed quickly, making it into the mess before anyone else had left the baths.

“I did that for me as much as for you,” Zayn began quietly. He tugged Niall to their table before he could get his food, clearly wanting to settle this before anyone else sat down. “Conal only attacked you to get to me.”

“Yes, and he bloody well knows it worked, doesn’t he?” Niall hissed back. “What makes you think he’ll stop now?”

“He might not,” Zayn admitted, “but his pride’s hurt now, so maybe he’ll go after me directly.”

“If he didn’t have the guts to do that before he’s not going to start now that you’ve broken his ribs!” Niall was having trouble keeping his voice down; he wanted to jump up and bellow. “He’ll come after me again, and you won’t always be there, and getting back at him the day after won’t going to undo whatever he’s already done.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Zayn demanded. “Just let him break your legs every time he decides he needs to put me in my place?”

The other pages were starting to arrive. Niall spoke quickly. “You can let me sort it out myself. Like I said, I’m not actually helpless, you know.” When Zayn looked hesitant, he felt his temper kick. “You don’t know. You think I _am_ helpless!”

“Not _helpless_ , but you don’t have the training yet,” Zayn said. His placating tone made Niall want to throttle him, but he had to acknowledge the truth of Zayn’s words. “If you were a fourth-year too I wouldn’t worry, but it’s not a fair fight.”

“What about you, then?” Niall asked. “You’re only a second-year but you seem to be ahead of everyone. What do you do that’s so different?”

“I train harder. On the courts, and off of them. In the mornings, before bed, over holidays. I train with anyone who will teach me.”

Niall nodded. “Then you can teach _me_.”

Zayn didn’t look convinced, but Louis and Harry sat down at that moment, asking them why they weren’t eating. They left to collect their trays and stand in line for lunch, both of them thinking hard.

Conal wasn’t seen for the rest of the day, having gone back to his rooms to sleep after leaving the healers. Niall tried to be cheered by that; he didn’t want Zayn fighting his battles for him, but at least he’d done a thorough job of it. Any satisfaction he felt, however, was dampened by the way all the other pages were openly wary of Zayn again, doing their best to pretend he wasn’t sitting right there in class with him. Even their friends, who’d started to get used to him, were careful to avoid drawing his attention.

Niall was so distracted the Master Yayin had to call his name twice to ask for his recitation of the history of the Dominion Jewel. For a moment he blanked entirely, unable to remember a word, but after a deep breath it came back to him, the cadence helping the words flow easily. His smile at the master’s praise quickly faded when he was rewarded with an even longer poem, this one in the style of a courtly ballad. The previous poem, while monotonous, had at least been exciting with its far-off lands and Lady Alanna’s defiance of the mountain god that guarded the Jewel. The new poem was just pure sop, listing an unnamed lady’s charms with no story. It seemed to melt out of his mind even as he read it.

He kept close to Harry after that, needing the other boy’s calming good spirits to stir him out of his funk. Mathematics and etiquette passed without trouble, although he still couldn’t bow to the etiquette master’s exacting standards, and history was a welcome relief from the tension he’d carried from the practice courts. The discussion moved from Carthak to the Yamani islands, home to the kingdom’s most powerful allies and, if treaty negotiations went well, the future queen of Tortall. Liam tried and failed to hide his blush when the topic of his betrothal to a Yamani princess arose, and Niall couldn’t resist joining the others in their gentle teasing of their gentle prince.

Niall was sorry for losing his temper with Zayn by suppertime, and whispered as much to him after they collected their trays. He also tried to subtly herd Zayn towards their friends instead of the empty table he’d been aiming for, but judging by Zayn’s put-upon sigh, he wasn’t fooled.

“All right, all right,” he said. “I’ll go make everyone think I’m nice again.”

“You’re a softie and you know it,” Niall teased.

“No, you’re just too cu--convincing,” Zayn replied, catching himself at the last moment.

Niall made a mental note to never quarrel with Zayn again. It was far more fun when they got along. “Oh go on, I’m cute. You can say it. Rabble thinks so too.”

“So do the stable hands,” Louis chimed in, having heard him as they sat down. “They were all watching her pick on you this morning.”

Chatter about their horses carried them through supper. Niall wasn’t the only one to notice Zayn’s unusual mount, and the other boy actually smiled when he explained that his mare, Alhan, was half-Bazhir like him. She had been the fastest horse in the pages’ stable the year before and likely would be until Zayn left. The Bazhir horses were becoming fashionable in northern Tortall because of their speed and endurance. Having been bred by a nomadic desert people, they were tireless, and highly sensitive to their riders. Stefan Groomsman had overseen Alhan’s breeding himself, and was very excited about the result.

Niall half-hoped Zayn would want to study with the others in the library that night, but when he asked Zayn shook his head. “Were you serious? About wanting to train with me?”

He couldn’t let himself hide behind Zayn forever. “Yes.”

“All right,” Zayn replied. “Then we begin tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read anything by Tamora Pierce, a) YOU NEED TO and b) Daine here is the main character in the The Immortals War quartet, which begins with the book Wild Mage.


	7. Chapter 7

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’ve seen you with the Bear,” Zayn said flatly. “You don’t get to hit until you know how to fall.”

Niall wanted to grumble, but now he knew he was cutting into Zayn’s private training time. His bedroom wasn’t quite large enough for the two of them to practice, but opening the door into the attached dressing room gave them a length of floor that they could use. Falling on flagstones would be much more painful than falling on the packed dirt of the practice courts, but Zayn was also a more intuitive teacher; being about the same size meant he could give Niall advice that the large, heavy Iorek Balstad could not. He also showed Niall how to do the tuck-and-roll maneuver as a dive, removing the elements of fear and uncertainty that came with being thrown.

“Once you get a feel for the motion, it will come naturally when the Bear tosses you,” Zayn promised.

Niall nodded briskly, staring at the length of floor and trying to will himself to dive onto it.

“Here, I’ll spot you.” Zayn crouched along the path he would take if he ever managed to move. “Just fall forward, and I’ll catch your back.”

After jumping up and down on the spot to warm up a bit, Niall toppled forward, knowing Zayn’s strong arm would be there to keep him from cracking his head open on the floor. It wasn’t graceful, and he almost kicked Zayn, but he was able to catch himself on his forearms and roll like the older pages did so easily on the practice courts.

He popped back up, elated, but Zayn was all business, making him practice until he could manage it without being spotted. Then he showed Niall exercises he could do in his room, including floor press-ups, leg-lifts and a standing lunge that was similar to what he’d eventually learn in swordfighting, except that the rear foot faced forward and the rear leg bent to exercise his thighs. In swordfighting, the rear foot was perpendicular to the direction of the lunge, and the rear leg was straight at full extension. Zayn insisted that he demonstrate the difference and work on perfecting both forms, because any bad habits he learned now would impede this training later on.

Niall was exhausted after half a bell of training, which left him nodding off over his desk while Zayn dove into his classwork with the same focused intensity he put into everything. His neat pile of completed assignments grew steadily while Niall tried to keep the words of his poem from swimming together.

“Do you really have to be the best at _everything?_ ” he asked at length. “It’s not enough to be the best in training, you have to be the best in all your classes too?”

To his complete surprise, Zayn’s face fell. Exhaustion aside, Niall was beside his friend in a moment. “Zayn? I’m sorry. What did I say?”

Zayn glanced away, but didn’t shake off the hand Niall laid hesitantly on his arm. “I do have to be the best at everything,” he said quietly. 

“You’re the only one that thinks that,” Niall insisted. Zayn shook his head.

“You saw how it was your first day. No one would even look at me before you got here, except to sneer. I spent my whole first year waiting for people like Conal to catch me somewhere alone, and I was _always_ alone.” He swallowed. “It wasn’t just the pages, either. There are plenty of nobles who resent my father for his titles, and who say he and the king forced my mother to marry him, and all kinds of things to try to drum us out of court.” 

Niall had his arm around Zayn’s broad shoulders now. He hated to imagine Zayn all by himself for an entire year, with no one to make him flash that blinding smile of his.

“So I have to be the best, because if I prove I deserve my shield they can’t keep me out. I have to win the crown’s favor because if I don’t, my sisters will have no marriage prospects.” His fists clenched. “I _want_ to be the best because if everyone’s going to sneer at me, they can do it from the dirt, because I’ve beaten them fairly and there’s nothing they can about it.”

Niall couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would be even close to adequate, so instead he gave Zayn’s shoulders a squeeze and said, “I’ll trounce anyone who sneers at you now.”

Zayn snorted, then clapped his hand over his mouth, instantly remorseful. Niall went ahead and laughed. “No, really, if anyone picks on you, come tell me, and I’ll fall down at them until they say sorry.”

That got Zayn laughing properly, for the first time since Niall met him. “Or if falling down doesn’t work I could always threaten to tell Rabble on them.”

Zayn flopped over with his hands over his face, creasing some of his classwork when he landed on it but not appearing to care. Niall just grinned, watching him. It was so nice to see Zayn relaxed and smiling. He had a feeling he was the only one in the palace besides Zayn’s family who had.

Their eyes met for a long, happy moment. Niall had to shake himself out of it. “I still have that poem to do. I’d rather do my math classwork ten times over than memorize that thing.”

“You like music,” Zayn observed. “Maybe if you make it a song, you’ll remember it.”

Niall waved a hand to dismiss the idea, then caught himself. “That might actually work.” He hurried back to his desk, examining the poem in a new light. “It’s meant to be a ballad anyway. I just need a tune--do you mind if I play my guitar?”

He barely heard Zayn’s “Not at all.” His mind filled with the rhythms of the poem, fitting them to a simple melody. An hour or two later, he was singing the whole poem softly while accompanying himself with plucked chords.

He finished, and nearly dropped his guitar when Zayn started clapping. “That was really good! You know the whole thing now, too.”

“That was a brilliant idea you had, putting it to music,” Niall replied. Suddenly he hoped the reading master would give him another poem the next day. “Watch, I’ll only get history or philosophy to read from now on.”

“That would be a shame.” Zayn was nodding to himself, like he could still hear Niall playing. “You’ve got a nice voice.”

Niall was about to tell him about growing up in Mullingar and the minstrels he’d befriended, but Zayn went on to ask, “Will you play it again, please?”

Niall blushed. He didn’t know why he was bashful all of a sudden when he’d been playing and singing just a moment before, but playing at Zayn’s request made it different somehow. He also put more effort into his singing, when before he’d mostly just been humming to himself.

Glancing up at Zayn made his blush deepen and his fingers falter on the strings. This close to lights out they were both tired, and Zayn looked drowsy and gentle on his bed. The hand he was propping himself up on slid along the blanket until he was laid out on his side, a dreamy smile on his lips.

“That was lovely,” he murmured when Niall finished, “but now you’ll have to go sleep in my room, because I can’t move.”

As if on cue, Lord Simon’s “Lights out!” bellow rang down the hall. Zayn groaned, stretching like a cat before extending an arm toward Niall and making a grabbing gesture. Niall understood, rising to haul Zayn upright.

“Think you can put on your sun balm without blinding yourself tomorrow?” Zayn asked, collecting his things.

“Probably,” Niall replied. “Think you can shave without someone to hold the mirror?”

Zayn cocked his head, thinking. He still had that smile on his face that made Niall want to touch him, very lightly, at the corner of his mouth where it tucked in. “Maybe not. It was nice not having to double over at my washstand.”

Niall chuckled, but he was almost asleep on his feet. “I’ll come ‘round. Now get out so I can sleep.”

“Mmm.” Zayn touched his shoulder, briefly. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

He gestured, indicating Niall and the room beyond him. “I don’t know. For giving me a chance?”

He left, shutting the door quietly behind him, and Niall tumbled into bed, curling up in the warmth he’d left.

***

Their days settled into an easy rhythm after that, with Niall stopping in Zayn’s room in the morning before they joined the others for breakfast and their day’s training and classes. In the evenings, the two of them retreated to the quiet of Niall’s rooms to train again before doing their classwork. If they had time, or if Niall had another poem to learn, he would play and sing for Zayn before they went to bed. Gradually, so softly Niall didn’t even notice at first, Zayn began singing along. Zayn’s voice, when he got over his shyness, was stunning; Niall would have happily played for him until his fingers bled, so long as he kept singing. They were safe from being overheard. Niall’s rooms were at the end of the hall, with his dressing room separating it from Harry’s, which was always empty since Harry either studied in the library or attended the special magic classes along with the other Gifted pages. They didn’t want or need an audience. It got the point where Niall had trouble sleeping on the nights when they didn’t have time to sing.

The Shang Bear grunted approvingly at the results of Zayn’s tutelage, graduating Niall to learning patterns of punches, kicks and blocks. His staff skills also progressed until he was able to move on to the spear, and he and Zayn had to begin visiting the indoor practice courts so they’d both have space to practice their weapons, sometimes in the company of Louis and Harry. The hated longbow grew familiar until he could hit the target every time, gradually clustering his shots closer and closer to the center. Lord Simon awarded his progress with an afternoon off from classes, so he could finally go into the city to buy the salt-lick and other treats he’d promised Rabble. It was, however, dull in the city without his friends, and he practically had to sing and dance a jig to get any of the merchants to notice him.

At times it seemed Conal still harbored a grudge, but neither Niall nor Zayn were ever alone anymore, and Niall’s easy cheer made him popular with all the pages so that Conal couldn’t single him out on the practice courts again. Zayn grew more popular as well, until Niall no longer felt like every instance of him speaking to someone besides Niall was a monumental event.

One morning Lord Simon broke their routine, calling for silence before breakfast.

“I won’t mince words,” he began. “Stormwings attacked the Rider barracks early this morning.”

The news left the entire assembly stunned. Stormwings were immortal monsters from legend with the heads and chests of humans but talons like birds of prey. The wings they had in place of arms were covered in razor sharp steel feathers that could slice a human into pieces in seconds. Formidable as they were, they rarely attacked the living. Instead, Stormwings fed on the mortal terror created by war, desecrating the bodies of the dead by defecating on them, then rolling in their own foulness. They hadn’t been seen in Tortall since mages from the Carthaki university sealed them in the Divine Realms.

“No one was seriously injured,” Lord Simon continued in the eerie silence. “King Jonathan, Lady Alanna, Master Numair and the trainees were able to repel the Stormwings. The palace’s new wildmage, Veralidaine Sarrasri, also called on the Rider’s ponies and the palace hounds. It seems her magic allowed her to sense the immortals’ approach and sound the alarm.

“Training will continue normally, but if Daine senses another attack, the palace guards will sound their horns and all of you are to take cover immediately and await further orders.” Lord Simon pressed his lips and looked over the pages, attempting to make eye contact with every boy there. “You will _not_ engage the Stormwings, or any other attackers, on your own. Do not force me to tell your parents you were cut to pieces by their filthy wings in a foolhardy attempt at heroism. When you are knights you may throw your lives away if you choose. Until then, you will retreat when ordered.”

He sat back down, and the pages released a collective breath.

“Why did it have to be _Stormwings?_ ” Cador wanted to know. “I’d rather fight almost anything else. Hurrocks, griffins, those winged ape things, anything.”

“If we didn’t hear it from Lord Simon I’d never believe it,” Zayn muttered. “Only the Carthakis would know how to let them out of the Divine Realms, and even Emperor Ozorne isn’t mad enough to think they could be allies.”

“Could someone else have done it?” Louis directed the question at Harry, the only one among them with the Gift, since Liam was sitting with another group that day.

“Master Numair is the only other mage I can think of who might know how,” Harry mused, “but I don’t believe that he would betray the crown after they took him in.”

“Took him in from what?” Sigan asked.

“You don’t know? He used to be the best mage in the university of Carthak. He ran away from there years ago, and King Jonathan and Queen Thayet gave him a home here. He’s nice, too, actually.” Harry brightened a bit. “He’s going to start teaching some classes to the pages with the Gift. Not all of them, but the more advanced theory.”

“You seem to know a lot about him,” Louis said suspiciously.

Harry blushed. “He’s nice,” he said again. “You remember, he was at the midsummer feast last year, and we caught him doing sleight-of-hand tricks for the servants’ children when we went to get more cakes from the kitchens. He can do all kinds of spells that would kill other mages and he’s on familiar terms with the king and queen, but he was sat on the floor pulling sugar cubes out of their ears.”

Zayn smiled wryly. “So either there’s no way he could possibly be behind the Stormwing attack, or he’s so diabolical he’s managed to charm the entire kingdom into thinking he’s a saint, including Harry.”

The others fell to their favorite pastime of teasing Harry, accusing him of a crush on Numair. Zayn took the opportunity to nudge Niall. “You’re awfully quiet.” His brow furrowed with concern. “And you’re even paler than usual.”

Glancing up to make sure the others were distracted, Niall whispered, “I’m scared. I’ve barely learned anything, and now monsters are attacking the palace.”

Zayn gave him a reassuring smile, rubbing Niall’s back briskly. “Don’t worry. You heard Lord Simon. If they come back we’re to hide under our beds until he says it’s safe to come out.”

Niall tried to smile back. “Yes, but what if he tells us to go out there and fight them instead?”

“Then you should practice your pole arms,” Zayn said reasonably, getting up to leave. “They can’t cut you to pieces if you’ve got them on the end of your spear.”


	8. Chapter 8

Niall needn’t have worried. The Stormwings didn’t show themselves near the palace again, and they enjoyed another quiet week of training before Lord Simon called their attention at the beginning of lunch.

“We leave for the summer camp ground along the Bonnett River tomorrow after breakfast,” he announced. “Your classes this afternoon will cover woodcraft, field medicine and the proper means of calculating and transporting supplies. You will have the evening free to pack.” When signs of dismay spread among the page, Lord Simon glowered. “Knights travel _light_. You’ll have two saddlebags for your personal effects. The crown will provide pack horses for the rest.”

He sat, and the famished pages fell on their meal. Niall was excited. “My brother and I used to camp all the time before he married,” he said between bites. “I haven’t gone in ages.”

“Is this going to be fun, or should we get started on dreading it?” Sigan wanted to know.

“It was fun last year, until it rained the last week,” Cador replied. “Two nights with the tents sliding apart in the mud and everything worth hunting hidden away under shelter. Then all the mosquitoes hatched just in time for us to be covered in bites as we arrived back at the palace.”

They all made faces at that. There was a lotion that repelled insects, but it was a luxury like the balm that kept Sigan and Niall from roasting under the sun. It was standard issue for the King’s Own, the Queen’s Riders and the army, but Lord Simon seemed invested in the idea that adversity built character.

Pages caught checking the weather instead of focusing on training found themselves singled out for reprimands. Lord Simon turned an eagle eye on the new boys, ready to curb the least inattention. He caught Niall and Harry almost immediately, both of them watching the sky instead of each other as they traded punches and blocks.

“Mullingar! Cheshire!” he barked, making them jump out of their skins. “Stefan can always use help around the stables if you’re too busy watching the clouds to attend to your training.” He raised his voice for all the pages to hear. “Any page not minding his lessons will be left at the palace while we camp. We will all rely on each other’s skills in the field, and will have no use for dead weights.”

They nodded with a chorused “Yes, milord,” and did their best to forget about the camping trip, which was difficult when the arms masters kept bringing it up. The first-years’ spear session began with a lecture on spear-fishing, while in archery the more skilled archers, Niall included, had a lesson on which arrows to use for different prey, with the warning that they’d be called upon to demonstrate their knowledge in the field. Niall was excited at the prospect. He’d hunted at home, and he’d made good progress with the longbow.

The riding lesson revolved around how much weight their mounts could carry, and for how long a distance at what speed. Warhorses were bred for power, not endurance, which was why they would also be bringing pack horses to carry general supplies such as camp food for the first night, and feed for all the animals.

“Gonna get you out of this stuffy stall,” Niall whispered to Rabble as he groomed her. He glanced over his shoulder as he did so; Stefan would take it as a personal insult if he heard anyone call his stables “stuffy.” She flicked an ear in acknowledgement, and held still while he took extra care going over her coat, hooves and tack, wanting everything perfect before they headed into the woods.

Woodcraft made a welcome change from their usual afternoon classes, although mathematics was an hour-long tangle of tedious arithmetic as they calculated the cost and weight of supplies for a party of their size. The master made them check and re-check their figures until at last all the pages agreed, only to tell them they were incorrect and would have to start all over again. Niall was sure they’d come to blows before they finally got it right.

Supper was a hurried affair, with pages mumbling through their meals about all the things they needed to sort out before they left the palace. Harry, Louis and Liam were particularly pressed, having family affairs to settle in the few hours before bed.

Zayn was waiting outside his room when he got back, and the two of them stared at each other blankly for a moment when they realized they had no classwork. Zayn smacked himself in the forehead and walked back to his room while Niall laughed at him, then returned after his bags were packed so they could fit in half a bell of training before settling in to sing.

“I almost wish you could bring your guitar tomorrow,” Zayn said between songs. He was entering the dreamy state that meant it was nearly time for lights out.

“‘Almost?’”

“Well, it’d be nice to hear you play as we rode, and have all the boys singing with us.” Zayn paused to yawn. “But I like that no one knows about this.”

Niall nodded, sinking a little lower against the wall. At first he’d sat at the desk when he played for Zayn, but after a few weeks he joined his friend on the bed so the two of them could sprawl comfortably. “I always have trouble sleeping when we don’t sing. I expect I’ll be too tired to keep my eyes open after riding all day, though.”

Zayn hummed in agreement and slumped a little lower as well, bringing them shoulder-to-shoulder. “It’ll be different this year,” he murmured. “The weather’s been cool and dry, and I won’t have to pitch a tent by myself.”

He was looking off into the middle distance with that soft, unguarded smile that only Niall ever saw, and Niall couldn’t resist reaching over to touch his smooth cheek bone before stroking down lightly, callused fingertips catching on his day’s stubble. Zayn turned to him, startled, and for one breathless moment Niall was frozen with his fingers just grazing Zayn’s lips.

He blinked, and Zayn was on his feet, visibly shaken. 

“Wait,” Niall began, but Zayn cut him off.

“We should get to bed,” he said quickly. “Up early, and there’ll be no rest--”

“Please,” Niall added, knowing Zayn was too chivalrous to ignore a plea. 

Zayn settled, still staring off into the middle distance. His fists were clenched, but Niall didn’t think it was in anger. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t...that wasn’t...”

“Well, maybe I did,” Niall said, when it seemed Zayn wouldn’t continue. “Maybe it could have been.”

Zayn shook his head, his hands stretching before clenching up even tighter. “It was just a strange moment. I shouldn’t have...” He trailed off again, his face going carefully blank. “You don’t even like men that way. I thought you’d say something the night I told you I did, but the next day it was like it never happened, so--”

“I’ve never had anyone,” Niall blurted.

Zayn froze, and Niall felt himself blushing furiously. “I mean, I’ve never, you know, _had_ anyone, and I’ve also never really courted anyone. I mean, I’ve been at home, mostly, and it wouldn’t’ve been right, with the villagers. I mean I had friends, I’m not a snob, but being their lord’s son I couldn’t really...”

Zayn’s eyes darkened dangerously. “Tarnish the Mullingar line?”

“What? No!” Niall was insulted. “I meant that maybe, if I asked, they’d think they couldn’t say no. You hear tales of nobles taking advantage all the time, so I couldn’t...and I wanted my shield.” He sat up a bit straighter. “Commoners aren’t supposed to fear knights. It’s them we’re meant to defend.”

“You’re right, of course,” Zayn said slowly. “But Niall, if you’ve never courted anyone, and you’ve barely even _seen_ a female since you’ve come to the palace, you can’t really know who you like.” He tried a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You just think you like me because you’ve had to spend so much time with me.”

Niall shook his head. “I haven’t had to, though. I could have stopped whenever I wanted, but I haven’t wanted.”

“Yes, but you like everyone.” Zayn was still holding onto his false smile, like he was willing Niall to laugh it all off, but for once Niall didn’t feel like laughing.

“I like _you_ ,” he said, meeting Zayn’s eyes steadily. “Maybe I don’t really know what that means, and maybe...no, I definitely don’t know what I’m doing.” He stood, and stepped as close to Zayn as he could without climbing him like he was starting to want. “But you’re a good teacher, aren’t you?”

Zayn went very still. “Niall, if this is some kind of fun experiment for you...”

“Well, it could be fun to experiment,” he couldn’t help saying, smiling tentatively when Zayn glared at him, “but if that would make you hate me, I’d rather we just stayed mates.” Zayn bit his lip, brows furrowing uncertainly, and Niall grimaced. “Except now that I’ve started thinking about being more-than-mates, this thing you do where you’re unfairly attractive all the time is going to make that difficult.”

Zayn chuckled. “Yeah, well, that thing where you’re cute and funny and starting to fill out around the shoulders isn’t really fair either.”

Niall beamed, stepping back to flex his skinny arms. “Am I really? I thought I might be. It’s a lot easier to draw my long bow, and Harry said my hand-to-hand and staff work have improved.”

Zayn was smiling at him at last, his real, blinding smile that made Niall want to throw open the door so everyone could come see how beautiful Zayn was, but hoard it to himself at the same time. He reached up to touch him again, this time following the path of his laugh-line down to the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe it’s not really men I like,” he said, watching the shape of Zayn’s mouth as it relaxed. “Maybe it’s really just you.”

Predictably, Lord Simon’s voice rang through the halls at that moment, ordering the pages to bed. Niall caught Zayn’s shoulder.

“You’re not going to do anything stupid like ignore me until I sort myself out, right?” he asked hurriedly. Zayn opened his mouth to reply but Niall second-guessed himself and cut him off. “But if _you_ need some time after all this then that’s fine, of course.” He immediately panicked. “Or, I mean, if you already know you don’t like me--curse it, I shouldn’t have assumed, why would you really, neither of us even knew I might like men--”

“Niall!” Zayn caught his face, immediately halting his frantic thoughts and leaving him a bit giddy instead. “I won’t start ignoring you, and,” he licked his lips, which was downright cruel, “I like you.” His hands slid from Niall’s face to his neck, cool and rough against Niall’s returning blush. “I might really like you.”

A muffled thump indicated that Harry had banged his door open against the adjoining wall, prompting Zayn to step back while Niall made feeble grabbing gestures at him. “We’ll talk more,” Zayn promised. “If we’re going to do anything about this,” he gestured between them, “we both need to know what we’re getting into.”

“Tomorrow,” Niall said. He wasn’t about to waste time.

“Tomorrow,” Zayn agreed. He gave Niall a long look, eyes roving over his face to rest on his lips. Niall licked them, instinctively, making Zayn groan and hang his head before looking up at him through his lashes, smiling ruefully.

Niall gathered himself to pounce on him, consequences be damned, but Zayn was gone before he took a step.

***

Naturally, they barely got to say two words to each other the next day.

Lord Simon had them in the stables immediately after breakfast, inspecting their tack and sending pages back to their rooms if their saddlebags were too heavy. Zayn had checked his bags the previous night, so Niall had nothing to fear, but Harry and Eamon both had to make the long sprint up and down the hill to return some too-cumbersome belongings to their rooms.

Once they were all mounted Niall eagerly steered Rabble alongside Zayn’s Alhan, but found he was hard pressed to keep her there. The change in routine had Rabble’s spirits up, along with nearly every other horse in the procession. Niall and the other pages spent a distracted morning struggling to keep their mounts on the Conté Road when they wanted to stray into the woods on either side, or shed their riders in favor of chasing each other at a gallop. Niall was tempted to let Rabble run, just to get it out of her system, but they had a long ride ahead of them. Better to tire himself trying to rein her in than let her exhaust herself before they’d gone half the distance.

The weather stayed clear, to everyone’s relief, and they reached their first campsite without incident. Zayn found Niall as soon as they stopped, but he and the other first-years were immediately called away to set up the tents. Harry and Niall worked together well and were the first to get theirs standing, but Lord Simon just sent them to assemble another while their year-mates continued to struggle.

That night they dined on camp stew after carefully grooming, feeding and watering their mounts, but Lord Simon warned them that they’d be hunting for their suppers the next day. There was no chance of having a private word with all the boys crowding around the campfires, and the options of sleeping four to a tent or out in the open made it impossible as well. They’d no sooner laid their bedrolls on soft patch of grass than Harry, Louis, Sigan, Cador, Eamon and Liam came bounding over, chattering about how they all hated tents and wasn’t it a mercy that there were no bugs.

Niall had to laugh at Zayn, who looked about ready to throttle the lot of them. He turned his baleful stare on Niall, making him laugh even harder, before relieving some of his pent-up frustration by shoving a handful of dry leaves into Louis’ bedroll. That prompted a brisk wrestling match accompanied by a lot of silent fist-pumping and flailing from the others, who were trying to cheer on their favorites without attracting Lord Simon’s attention. Liam finally waded in to pluck them apart and order Zayn to help Louis shake out his bedroll before making them shake hands. They obeyed, with only a little good-natured grumbling since quiet Liam almost never pulled rank on anyone.

Niall felt a little disgruntled watching Zayn roughhouse with someone other than him, but he caught Zayn looking a little startled when he turned away from Louis. They all crawled into their bedrolls, and there was just enough light for Niall to see Zayn shake his head and smile at him wonderingly, the way he had on the second day when he’d found himself surrounded by friendly faces in the mess. 

Any jealousy Niall felt vanished as he smiled back.


	9. Chapter 9

The next day they left the road to enter the woods along the northern banks of the Bonnett River. The ride was more subdued this time with the horses less spirited over the rougher ground, and the pages wary of scaring off game. There was no clearing where they stopped for the night, and the trees were so close that everyone would sleep outside rather than try to find enough space to pitch tents. The senior pages were sent to hunt for that night’s supper while the first-years cared for everyone’s mounts, gathered firewood and cleared the thick leaf litter to dig fire pits.

Leofard’s hunting party was the first to return, having gotten lucky and surprised an elderly buck. Niall winced when he saw the number of arrows they’d needed to bring it down; he wished he’d been allowed to hunt. Other groups returned with smaller game. Skinning, cleaning and cooking their meal took so long that it was dark before they finally ate, chewing the tough venison tiredly.

They slept in rows that night with their heads were angled up along the valley floor. More than one page had the unpleasant experience of one of their fellows sliding down over the slippery leaves to land on top of them before Eamon had the brilliant idea of anchoring the bedrolls with the unused tent stakes. After that they finally slept, strung along like so many stockings on a clothesline.

Everyone was stiff and cross when Lord Simon roused them at dawn, including the horses who hadn’t enjoyed the slope any more than they had. As they left the river to head west the land became hilly, but they were able to take a winding path between the hills and save their mounts the effort of climbing up and down the slopes.

It was a relief when they reached a clearing where a shallow valley spread into a level space. There were stables for the horses and a longhouse for the pages. Lord Simon set them to stabling their mounts and clearing all the leaves and other debris from the house, which contained two hearths and no furniture, but was dry and would provide shelter from the coastal winds.

After they finished he sent them out to collect firewood and familiarize themselves with the surrounding country. “We’ll be here for two months,” he reminded them, “so get comfortable.”

Niall and Zayn drifted together, but were immediately surrounded by their friends. Niall despaired of ever getting a moment alone with Zayn before they broke camp to return to the palace.

“That wasn’t so bad, really,” Sigan said. He elbowed his sponsor. “You got us all worked up for nothing.”

“I said it rained on the last week,” Cador replied, elbowing him back. “And that was at the camp on the River Olorun. Here we’ll be lucky to go two months with only a few storms.”

“Well it’s clear now and we’ve got a chance to fix our bow legs,” Harry put in sensibly, sparking a laugh; they were all walking a bit funny after two days in the saddle. “So we’ll deal with the rain when it comes and hope that Lord Simon doesn’t get any brilliant ideas about making us drag the horses out into it.”

There was no help for it. Niall let himself relax into the usual easy camaraderie, contenting himself with walking beside Zayn and pretending to stumble into him at every stone or root until Zayn was eyeing him with a mix of irritation and amusement.

Meanwhile Harry was flailing around enough to distract everyone else from Niall’s sudden clumsiness. “Oh come on, tell me, Louis!”

“Tell what?” Sigan asked.

“He knows some secret about the camp or the area or something and he won’t tell!” Harry cuffed his friend on the back of the head, earning a steely glare in response. Undiscouraged, Harry switched tactics, pouting at Louis with eyes that were suddenly the size of dinner plates.

Louis shut his own eyes immediately. “Mithros, no, stop looking at me like that!” He ran and ducked behind Zayn. “Keep him away from me!”

Zayn spun around, confused, and caught the full effect of Harry’s pout before clamping his eyes shut too. “Ugh, it’s worse than Niall’s. Here.” Groping behind himself, he caught Louis by the arm and thrust him towards Harry. “You can have him.”

“Where’s your chivalry, Bradford?” Louis demanded, feigning outrage.

“Where’s yours?” Harry retorted. “Come on, Louis, tell!”

“All right, fine!” Louis stood on his toes to look around, making sure their group was the only one within earshot. “I overheard servants in the palace stores saying the Queen’s Riders would be camping at Pirate’s Swoop this year.”

Zayn asked “So?” just as Niall asked, “Where’s Pirate’s Swoop?”

“There are _girls_ in the Queen’s Riders,” Louis answered. “And Pirate’s Swoop is only a day’s ride west, along the coast.”

Harry was still pouting. “That’s not much of a secret. Everyone in the palace knew that.” 

The other pages exchanged glances; of them, only Liam was unsurprised. Queen Thayet was with the Riders and he could generally be trusted to know the whereabouts of his own mother. Harry sighed. “Everyone who ever talks about anything other than staff work and horses, at least.”

“I wonder if that wild mage is with them,” Niall said.

“Daine?” Louis asked. “Probably, since she works for them. Why?” He was sporting a grin that made Niall want to make a run for it. “Made an impression, did she?”

The others immediately grinned as well. “You were talking to her for _ages_ when she came to the training grounds,” Harry said.

Niall tried to protest but Sigan talked over him. “Is that why you and Zayn always study alone?” He nudged Zayn. “Has he been torturing you with odes to Daine’s curls every night?”

Zayn’s face was completely blank. “No,” he said flatly.

“He has, hasn’t he?” Sigan jeered. “I bet you’ve given him loads of advice on how to woo people like you did with the healer.”

“What healer?” Eamon asked.

“When Niall and I got our sun balm,” Sigan explained gleefully. “The healer wouldn’t hand it over, then Zayn started batting his eyes at him and we ended up with three jars instead of just the two we needed.”

“‘Him?’” Louis was still grinning, but there was a sudden sharpness to his eyes as he studied Zayn. “You rake. Is no one safe from you?”

“Why were you flirting with a man?” Cador wanted to know.

“Wait, what happened to the extra balm?” Sigan added.

“Zayn,” Liam said, quelling the others. “Are you all right?”

Niall just wanted to grab Zayn and bolt.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Zayn replied. He sounded calm, but he flexed his hand, stretching and tightening it into a fist before relaxing again. “Niall hasn’t said anything about Daine, the extra balm is in my room, and I tried flirting because, well, it always works for me.” 

He winked, and Niall breathed out with relief as the others simply laughed. He hung back a little as they moved on. Zayn lingered with him, looking worried for at least ten different reasons. Niall only had one thing to say. “I know we have a lot to talk about,” he whispered, “but I wanted you to know: it really is just you.”

The grin on Zayn’s face had Niall tripping over a root for real.

***

Horns blared out from camp in lieu of the palace bells, calling them back for a lunch of cold meat, dried fruit and flat bread. Lord Simon warned them that it was the last of their meat supplies, and gave the first-years a lesson on setting improvised hunting traps. After his demonstration, he began calling out pairs, with first-years to set the traps and older pages to supervise and map the terrain as they went. 

“Mindelan!” he barked. “Take Niall with you to the south.”

Zayn and a few others had already been ordered northwest to hunt; they could only share worried glances before Zayn had to lead his party away. Niall jumped when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, but squared himself to meet Conal’s sneer steadily.

“I’ve been looking forward to this, Mullingar,” Conal muttered.

“So have I,” Niall replied, trying to channel Zayn’s calm lack of concern. “I’ve been training.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Conal slid his hand down to seize Niall around the arm, and Niall was suddenly glad Zayn had already left because he’d have broken Conal’s ribs _again_ if he’d seen. Conal pretended he was just taking him by the arm to lead him away to the south, but his grip was tight; Niall could practically feel the bruises forming. “My little sister’s got more muscle on her and she’s half your age.”

Niall didn’t respond until they’d entered the woods beyond the camp clearing. Once they were out of everyone’s sight, he planted his feet and twisted hard, using Conal’s weight to throw him over his hip. The bigger boy caught himself and rolled, but came up scratched all over from the undergrowth.

He gathered himself to retaliate, but Niall spoke quickly. “Lord Simon will want your map when we get back,” he said. “And I actually want to learn how to set these traps. So let’s just finish this and have our fight when we’ve the time.”

Conal snorted. “You mean when your pet Bazhir is around to help you. I think now is just fine.” He advanced, forcing Niall to stumble backwards through the trees to maintain his distance. “I’ll have plenty of time to finish my map once I finish dealing with you.” He spared a glance north; they were still close enough that they could hear the others. “But first, let’s make sure we’re really alone.”

They headed further south. To Niall’s surprise, Conal seemed to take his mapping assignment seriously, noting every landmark with meticulous attention to relative distances. He followed Conal’s cue and concentrated on setting his snares, eyes combing the undergrowth for the narrow trails that hinted at the regular passage of small game.

He was so focused on the immediate ground that he almost stumbled into a steep gorge, and that was when Conal struck. Two punches slammed into his back, and only Conal’s grip on the back of his shirt saved him from pitching forward into the gorge.

“It would be a shame to break a bone this far from the palace healers,” Conal said, shaking him a little. “It’d be days before you could get back to them, and you’d have to ride the whole way.”

Niall panicked. His feet were right on the crumbling edge; he couldn’t get any leverage to disengage Conal. Groping behind himself was no help. Conal had him right between his shoulders where he couldn’t reach, and his arm was long enough that Niall couldn’t lay a finger on the rest of him.

“What would you say to keep me from tossing you, I wonder?” Conal shook him again, and Niall growled a curse. “Now now. Language like that won’t help you.”

“I’d rather break every bone in my body than grovel for you!” Niall gave up trying to get free and raised both legs to force Conal to take his full weight, sending them both lurching forward over the edge. Niall clawed at the earth as he rolled, searching for any rock or stick that might slow his descent, and lost track of Conal entirely. He got lucky when the slope took him into a patch of long grass. He dug his fingers deeply into their roots to drag himself to a gradual stop, only to have his breath knocked out when Conal crashed into him a moment later. By some miracle he didn’t lose his grip, holding both of them until Conal managed to gain purchase.

To his utter shock, the older boy was _laughing_. “Are you mad?” Conal demanded, gasping. “You could have killed us both!”

“You didn’t give me much choice.” Niall was craning his neck to look around them as well as he could. “Why’s this gorge here anyway? The Bonnett’s at least an hour’s walk west.”

“There were earthquakes along the coast last year,” Conal said. “It could have opened then, and no one knew because the only towns nearby are coastal.” He shifted carefully so he could support himself with both hands. “I expect they don’t travel inland much, when sea passage is so much easier.”

Niall hummed in acknowledgement. It was all a bit mad. Conal had spent the last month doing little besides glare at Niall meaningfully, and now they were chatting like nothing was amiss. “Well, however it got here, we need to get out of it.” He eyed Conal suspiciously. “You’re not going to kick me down as soon as we start climbing, right?”

“Wouldn’t really be sporting if I did,” Conal mused, starting to climb. “Surprising you when you should be minding your surroundings is one thing, but you stopped me falling so I suppose I can let you make it back to solid ground before giving you the thrashing I owe you.”

“How exactly do you owe _me_ a thrashing?” Niall wanted to know. “You’re the one who started this, and it looked to me like Zayn was the one who finished it.”

Conal’s face darkened dangerously. “It won’t be finished until he and the spies that whelped him are back in the desert where they belong.”

“You’re an idiot.” The climb was steep and slippery, and Niall knew he could say anything with impunity until they reached the top. “Isn’t your own father an ambassador? What would he say if he heard you now?”

“He’d say those spies have no right to live in the palace!” Conal was uprooting every plant he touched and kicking deep gouges as he climbed. “He’s done more for this kingdom than Bradford ever has, but the king gives the Bazhir rooms in the palace while my parents bleed our treasury renting in town so they can present my sisters at court.”

They were nearing the top, and Niall knew it was in his best interests to calm Conal down. “The king keeps Zayn’s father close because they need each other. King Jonathan can’t use his role as Voice of the Tribes to compel the Bazhir, and Baron Yaser can’t work with them if half of them refuse to so much as air their grievances. We have to show them that they’re welcome in our cities, that they’re part of Tortall, because the control the entire southern half of the country!”

They’d reached the rim. Niall tried to scramble over first, but Conal beat him easily. To his surprise, the older page offered him a hand, and pulled him over the edge and onto stable ground without threatening him, though his face was still stony. Niall tried another tack. “Your father is important too, and your family has been in Tortall for much longer.” Niall knew that Conal had two older brothers who were knights, one of whom had already married well. “Fief Mindelan is on the rise, without needing special favor, and rumor has it your parents are distinguishing themselves among the Yamani. The crown gives Bradford rooms in the palace, but they’re going to make a Yamani princess the future _queen_ , and that’s your father’s doing.”

Conal was silent for a long moment before turning away. “Come on,” he said flatly. “I’ve got to map this cursed gorge.” He scanned the trees and pointed to a large fir. “I’ll be up there. Don’t go out of earshot. I’ll check your traps on our way back, so you’d better remember where they are.”

Niall supposed he couldn’t expect more from him. “All right. Don’t let me stay too late; you’ll see the sun going before I do.”

Conal nodded, and they went their separate ways.


	10. Chapter 10

Zayn honed in on him as soon as they set foot in camp. He gave Conal a look that promised trouble, but the other boy just stepped around them to bring his map to Lord Simon.

“You’re a mess,” Zayn said, giving him a once-over. He really was: his entire front was one long smear of dirt, his hair was full of debris, and he was scratched and scraped all over. “What did he do, drag you around by your ankle?”

“We fell in a gorge.” Niall doubled over and shook himself like a dog, trying to dislodge some of the mess.

“You mean he pushed you.” Zayn started finger combing Niall’s hair, doing his best to pick out the leaves and twigs without taking too much of Niall’s hair with them. NIall made a mental note to make him do that sometime when he was clean; it felt nice, especially when Zayn started on the nape of his neck.

“Actually, I kind of pulled him.” He grinned, but he was itchy all over from the dust in his clothes. “Is there anywhere I can wash? Do I have time?”

“Yes. Some of the others aren’t back yet.” Zayn looked at him closely, then relaxed. “You really are fine.” Niall nodded, still grinning, and Zayn sighed with relief. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

They stopped to collect Niall’s spare clothes, which Zayn insisted on carrying because Niall’s hands were filthy, then headed west to a small freshwater stream formed by the spring they’d depend on all summer. If it failed, they’d have to move the entire camp west to the Bonnett River.

Once there, Niall stripped down to his loincloth and dunked his head in the stream, swirling his fingers through his hair to finish the job Zayn had begun. When he resurfaced it was with handfuls of grit from the streambed, which he used to scour his arms while he related the events of the afternoon in more detail.

He’d gotten as far as his defense of Zayn’s father (and made it rather more impressive and eloquent in the retelling) when he realized Zayn hadn’t so much as hummed in response for several minutes. “Are you even listening?”

He turned to look at Zayn, who had a strange smile on his face. “Something about how Conal is a jealous child, right?” His smirk deepened, and his eyes were nowhere near Niall’s face. “I’m a little distracted, but by all means, carry on.”

Niall felt what had to be the worse blush of his life break out on his cheeks and spread down his neck and chest; it felt like it’d reach his toes. He’d shared baths with Zayn and the others before, and he still had his loincloth on, but it was soaked and clinging to him and Zayn was looking at him like he wanted to eat him alive, or maybe just lick him all over until he lost his mind.

“Um,” he managed. Then he cursed. “Damn you, Zayn, you can’t doing this to me here!” He wanted to dress, but he needed to wring out his loincloth, and if he took it off with Zayn watching he’d give him more of a show than he’d ever gotten in the baths.

Zayn bit his lip, which was very inconsiderate of him, and his eyes looked darker than usual. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding it. “I’ll start rinsing your things.”

He collected Niall’s soiled breeches and shirt, moving further downstream to wash them out with his back to Niall. Niall took a deep breath, then a few more for good measure.

Lucky the stream was so cold.

***

Niall spent supper trying to laugh at Harry’s story about how he’d found a bees nest in the woods and happily raided it for honey while his third-year escort stood well back and called him ten kinds of idiot, but he kept losing track of the other boy’s meandering narrative. Zayn was beside him, looking painfully handsome by firelight, and Niall was noticing all sorts of things, like how long and slender his fingers were under their calluses, or how his beard had grown since no one could shave while traveling on horseback. Then he’d laugh at something someone said and his eyes would catch the light and Niall would have to look away before he started to make longing cat noises.

Lord Simon let them have their time after supper, with no lessons or other assignments. Zayn, typically, decided to use the time to practice with his weapons, and Niall joined him in hopes of tiring himself out so he’d stop salivating over his friend. This turned out to be an enormous mistake. Zayn was already stunning when he merely sat near a fire; with a weapon in his hands he was overwhelming. Niall kept forgetting to breathe as Zayn practiced, every movement fluidly precise. His balance never faltered, and if he needed to correct his grip he did it so quickly Niall couldn’t see it. All of it was combining with the memory of Zayn’s smooth, languorous confidence as he’d flirted with the healer like he’d known exactly how to play him, leaving Niall struggling to rein in his imagination. 

His own practice was a pathetic attempt to not trip over his own feet or hit himself in the head with his staff, so it was a relief when Harry and Louis decided to join them. He could let Zayn partner with Louis and focus on conducting a proper defense against Harry. As darkness fell they switched to hand-to-hand practice, gradually winding down until it was time to wash at the rain barrels designated for that purpose around camp.

They all elected to sleep outside while the weather stayed clear, but hung canvas canopies over their patch of grass to keep the dew from settling on them. Niall had every intention of not looking at Zayn as he undressed, but he was as helpless as he’d been during supper. He caught a dizzying glimpse of lean stomach muscles and sharp hips, all of it cut as finely as Zayn’s perfect face, before he dove into his bedroll and pulled the flap over his head so he could clamp his hands over the frustrated groans threatening to burst past his lips.

He was hard.

He managed to stick an arm out to flap around in response to the calls of “good night” from his friends, and heard Zayn say he’d been hurt falling into a gorge but would be fine in the morning, which wasn’t a lie. They just didn’t need to know the real reason he couldn’t show his face.

It seemed like hours before everyone settled. He shifted to stretch out on his side; he couldn’t lie on his back lest his silhouette give him away. Zayn’s bedroll was only inches away from his face, but so was Harry’s at his back, and more boys lay at their heads and feet; it seemed like someone sighed or turned over every time he inched his hand toward satisfaction. Eventually, though, quiet settled, broken only by Cador’s snores.

Niall counted four minutes, then nearly screamed when Zayn’s arm flopped out and landed practically in his lap.

There was just enough light from the smouldering campfires to make Zayn’s eyes glow in the darkness. Niall met them miserably, frustration warring with complete mortification, but then Zayn patted his hip, silently, and drew his arm back into his own bedroll, shifting so he was on his side facing Niall.

He seemed to still, but Niall’s straining ears caught the faintest rustling. Zayn’s eyes flickered like stars, and Niall realized: he was stroking himself.

Niall watched, forgetting to breathe, until Zayn stopped and nodded at him, as if to say, _You too_.

He unwrapped his loincloth with painstaking care inside his bedroll and finally, finally, got his hand around himself. His flesh was hot; his whole body was burning up, sweating, but he didn’t dare uncover himself. He settled for pushing the flap a little lower on his shoulder, taking what relief he could when the cool air touched his neck.

Across from him, Zayn turned his head up slightly, catching more of the low light, enough that Niall could see him lick his lips.

Niall climaxed immediately. He couldn’t help himself. His whole body clenched, and he barely swallowed the moan that swelled in his throat. He did his best to catch his come, but he was sure he’d made a mess, and he had no idea what to do about that; he didn’t have a washcloth or anything aside from his clothing.

Zayn’s breath caught, drawing his attention away from his own sloppy hand still cupped around his cock. His friend--lover?--had his head canted back, so that his face and neck were edged in fire. Niall could see his throat working, like he was swallowing a few moans of his own, before his lips parted around a long, quiet sigh.

This was torture, and Niall wasn’t getting any softer. He started stroking himself again, barely able to keep his hips still when the come let his hand slide more easily. Zayn was taking slow breaths, trying to calm down, then realized Niall was starting again and brandished his free fist at him before burying his face in his bedding. Niall grinned, a little smug; it was very good to see Zayn lose his composure. 

It happened slower this time, with the initial edge off and oversensitivity forcing him to handle himself gently. Zayn had both of his hands inside his bedroll this time and Niall mimicked him, cupping his sack, stroking the skin behind them, wondering just what Zayn was doing to himself, what he’d let Niall do to him when they got a chance, what he’d do to Niall.

Zayn finished first that time, which was very gratifying, especially when he slipped his hands free and held one just high enough to catch the light. Niall climaxed at the sight of come clinging to those long fingers, feeling drunk with the knowledge that he’d done that, that Zayn wanted him.

They wiped their hands in the strip of grass between them. The sharp tang of it rose in the air, but that was all right; there was a breeze, and campfire smoke lingered in everything, deadening smells. Niall got his loincloth more or less situated again, then fell deeply asleep, sated and happy.

+++

They woke to Lord Simon’s bellow at dawn. Niall and Zayn were all smiles as they rolled up their bedding, shuffling their feet to subtly erase any tell-tale traces in the grass. Niall held a mirror so Zayn could shave at last, happy with the familiarity. He kept waiting for something to be different, for their friendship to be ruined after the events of the previous night, but the only change was that it was nearly impossible to hide how much they wanted to touch each other all the time. Every single thing Zayn did was driving Niall mad, from the way he blew on his tea to cool it to the way he dripped honey over his porridge in slow, deliberate swirls.

Niall wanted to lick it off him.

Niall was so doomed.

Training that day was a blur. All his extra practice served him well, helping him get through the morning arms sessions without really registering them, though he definitely woke up when everyone trooped to the stream to wash. Niall despaired of ever getting through it without tackling Zayn, but Louis saved him by tweaking Harry’s nipple, starting up a chase that almost distracted Niall from the beads of water clinging to Zayn’s belly. He was mostly useless to the hunting party Lord Simon put him in for the afternoon, only landing one of the large seabirds that Eamon flushed for him, but that was all right. He was a first-year. They were supposed to be useless.

That night they linked their free hands as they stroked themselves, and Zayn pressed Niall’s fingers to his panting lips as he climaxed.

His hunting party the next day included Liam, Sigan, and two pages he hadn’t met. Normally he would have started roping them into the merry band he’d formed, but he was busy trying to decide whether or not he and Zayn could get their hands into each other’s bedrolls without waking the whole camp.

He was distantly aware of the others arguing over some strange tracks they found in a clearing, clawed like a hawk’s but large enough to be a bear’s, when something enormous burst out of the trees and hurtled straight at him.

Training took over. He dropped, rolled and had an arrow on the string without thinking. He couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing, but still managed to track its path and fire.

It crashed to the ground and he spun, looking for a new target, when the sun flashed in his eyes from the wrong angle, blinding him before he felt a jarring impact. He fell back and blinked wildly, shaking with sudden terror. He heard more impacts and a horrible scream, followed by a bitter laugh.

When his vision cleared at last all he saw was a wall of soft blue light: Liam’s magical Gift, shielding him. It faded, and Niall gaped. He thought he was looking at a man in strange armor, formed of hundreds of small overlapping plates; they’d reflected the sun to blind him. Then the armor moved and spread, revealing the shape of wings, enormous ones, with feathers of glinting steel.

His other senses returned, and a horrible stench of rotted feces and blood had him on his knees, vomiting. Hands seized him and hauled him away so Liam could examine him, quickly running his hands over Niall’s body checking for injuries.

“I’m sorry!” the Prince said. “I put a shield on you but it was too close so you still got knocked back. Are you all right?”

Gasping, Niall groped for the water Lord Simon made them all carry and rinsed his mouth before taking a gulp. “I’m fine,” he said finally. “What _was_ that?”

It was the creature that answered. “Don’t you know, little pig?” it sneered. “Didn’t the bitch that whelped you teach you to fear us? Or have you mortals forgotten the ones who prey on you?”

Not _it_ , Niall realized. _He_. His face and chest were that of a man with long hair greased back from a high forehead. Blood trickled down his forehead where he’d struck Liam’s shield. He flapped his wings again, releasing another cloud of horrible stench, but Niall had control of himself again. “Stormwing,” he said, his voice level, and nocked another arrow.

He drew, and held the shot ready as the Liam directed the others in tossing ropes around the immortal, who didn’t fight them. “I am Makur Mortalscourge, little pig,” he said, “and I will wear your bones in my queen’s court.”

He raised his head, revealing a collar of some kind, but Niall didn’t let his gaze waver. He had his arrow aimed at Makur’s right eye, and he intended to keep it there.

“What are you doing in Tortall?” Liam demanded. “How did you escape the Divine Realms? Russell, the horn,” he added, sparing a glance at one of the strange pages, who fumbled to blow the horn he carried to call for help.

Makur cocked his head as if considering his answer, then burst into motion. His wings were razor sharp, cutting through their ropes like butter. Niall loosed at almost the same moment, but the immortal turned to escape with a grazed eyebrow, and launched himself into the air, rolling to deflect the volley Niall sent after him.

The immortal flipped his tail up at and turned for a last look, just as Niall took a deep, careful breath before firing his last arrow.

It was the longest shot he’d ever taken. He seemed to have long minutes to watch the arrow’s flight as it rose ever so slightly with the breeze before slamming through his target: the black hole of the immortal’s mouth, opened to deliver a parting jeer.

Makur dropped like a stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course Liam has the Gift. He wouldn't be a proper Disney prince without pretty glowy magic powers.


	11. Chapter 11

Niall felt a little dazed. He was aware that the others were crowded around him, talking excitedly and clapping him on the back, but his mind was still on the arrow’s path, his eyes still fixed on the empty sky where his target had been before it plummeted into the trees.

He came back to himself when Liam stepped in front of him, peering worriedly into his eyes and shaking him briskly by the shoulders. “You still in there, Mullingar?”

“Yes.” He shook himself once for good measure. “Sorry. Got a bit caught up, I guess.”

“I’m not surprised,” his friend replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone shoot like that; it must’ve been over two hundred yards.”

Sigan called to them. He was standing over the first creature Niall had shot, prodding it with the butt of his spear. “Do you know what this is?” he yelled. “It’s a hurrok! Niall, you killed a bloody hurrok!”

“That was amazing, actually,” the other stranger said; Niall absently reminded himself that he must learn everyone’s names. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone move that fast.”

“Got it right through the heart, too,” Sigan added. “Timed it to shoot under the wing.”

“My ancestors will be proud,” Niall said flatly. “What’s a hurrok?”

“A winged horse,” Liam explained. Niall gave him a look that meant _I can see that, idiot_. “An immortal, like the Stormwings. The name is a slur of horse-hawk, because of the talons. And stop poking it!” He knocked Sigan’s spear away when he raised it again. “They’re monsters, but we should still respect their dead.”

Distant horns heralded help from the camp, and Russell blew theirs again so the others could find them. Soon Lord Simon rode into the clearing, followed by the other training masters and the pages he’d been able to muster. Everyone goggled at the dead hurrok, but Lord Simon’s face was grim as he listened to Liam’s report.

“You two,” he said, pointing at two pages. “Find the Stormwing and get it under cover. Mind the wings; just cover it if you can’t move it without losing your fingers. If it’s still alive, sound your horns.”

The pages left, and Lord Simon knelt beside the dead hurrok, carefully touching the arrow where it was buried deep in its side. His sharp eyes found Niall and seemed to weigh him to an ounce, taking in his empty quiver and the bow he still gripped in his right hand.

“You shot this?” Lord Simon asked. Niall nodded. “In close range, while it was in flight?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And then the Stormwing, at a distance, also while it was in flight?”

Niall gulped; the entire group’s skepticism was nearly palpable. “Yes, my lord.”

Liam was indignant. “He did, Lord Simon. We all saw it.” Beside him, Sigan seemed ready to burst in agreement.

Lord Simon only nodded thoughtfully. 

“We have to send word to Pirate’s Swoop,” Liam said, finally. “If there are more of them, that must be their target. My--the Queen’s Riders are there, but there aren’t enough of them, and they’re all trainees.”

Lord Simon nodded. “Back to camp!” he ordered. “We have a serious ride to make.”

+++

They couldn’t leave as quickly as Lord Simon and Liam would have liked. Half the pages were still out hunting and checking traps, and it took time for them all to return so the entire camp could be briefed. What food they had was not suited to riding; the meat was still fresh, not having had time to dry, and they’d switched from baking unleavened trail bread to softer camp bread. The only supply they had in ready abundance was grain for the horses; in that they were lucky.

The evening was spent in preparing the meat, roasting most of it and packing what they could in salt. Some still had to be packed up raw, but they readied it anyway to supplement the supplies at Pirate’s Swoop.

Niall and the others worried about Liam. The Prince was plainly worried, and it was making him uncharacteristically short with anyone who seemed to be shirking even slightly.

Louis finally stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Liam, mate, you’ve got to calm down. Standing over everyone and glaring isn’t going to make the meat cook any faster.”

“You don’t understand,” Liam snapped, shoving off his hand. 

They all stared; Liam never lost his temper. Louis, on the other hand, did, and was visibly struggling to keep a lid on his. “We might, if you told us. We’re obviously not supposed to know, but who are we going to tell out here in the woods?”

“If you can’t do anything about whatever it is you may as well tell us,” Zayn added. “We’ll help you glare at people if we know you’ve got a good reason for doing it.”

Liam chewed his lip and glanced around, then up at the sky and surrounding trees. “Wish I knew if there were any more immortals around,” he muttered. “Gather in, then.”

He, Niall, Zayn, Louis and Harry formed a small huddle. Niall patted Liam on the back, hesitantly, then wrapped the arm around Liam’s waist when the prince didn’t pull away. “Every knows the Queen is at Pirate’s Swoop,” Liam said, “because we wanted everyone to know that, and think that was the only secret about this year’s Rider’s camp.”

Louis made a face; he’d clearly been fooled along with the other court gossips. Harry patted him sympathetically, but keep his gaze intently on Liam. “What’s the real secret, then?”

“The real secret is that my brothers and sisters are there too,” Liam replied. “So if Pirate’s Swoop is under attack--”

“--The succession is under attack,” Zayn finished.

“And it’d be civil war after King Jonathan’s own cousin tried to usurp the throne,” Louis added.

“Right then.” Niall broke the huddle. “Let’s start glaring.”

+++

That night everyone was too tense for Zayn and Niall to risk the slightest noise, and Zayn, at least, was determined to get every minute of rest possible before they rode out in the morning. They had to settle for joining hands, with a brief reassuring squeeze from Zayn before he took a slow breath and dropped off, leaving Niall to worry himself to sleep.

It seemed like he’d only just closed his eyes when a he was jolted awake by Liam kicking him in the head. A hand clapped over his mouth before he could cry out, and he struggled for the moment it took for his wide, panicked eyes to make out Lord Simon kneeling over him with a finger over his mouth. Behind him, Liam was sitting up, looking equally startled, and Zayn had woken as well, carefully slipping his hand out of Niall’s before anyone noticed.

“Wake the others as quietly as you can,” Lord Simon whispered. “We couldn’t risk announcing our plans when we didn’t know if we were being watched. We leave tonight. Saddle your mounts, and muffle their hooves.”

He moved on to the next group of pages; quiet shufflings and whispers indicated that he’d already woken everyone who’d slept in the longhouse. No one dared a light, but the moon was full enough to let them find their saddlebags, already packed earlier in the evening. Rabble snuffled when Niall went to her, but even the horses seemed to realize that silence was needed; the pages were able to saddle them and tie rags around their hooves to deaden their noise without trouble.

This time, instead of sending them stumbling through the woods, Lord Simon led them due south to meet a beaten trail, most likely used for driving livestock to and from the coast, just wide enough to admit a double column of riders. Niall expected to have Zayn beside him for the tense journey, but to his surprise Zayn, Liam and Louis were all clustered around Lord Simon, leaving their first year friends to worry and wonder about the battle to come. Rabble was twitchy under her reins and Niall did his best to soothe her, but he knew he was so tense she had to be picking up on it. Save for the immortals they’d faced, he’d never really fought someone before. Other boys among the pages had experience defending their home fiefs, but Mullingar wasn’t an attractive target for raiders, being small, not particularly wealthy, and sharing a border with the might of Fief haMinch. He’d never actually aimed a live weapon at another human being and wasn’t sure he’d be able to start.

+++

Steady riding through the night, with stretches at a gallop when Lord Simon trusted the dark path, brought them within a mile of their goal. Niall’s nerves had all his senses on painful high alert, so he was the first to see the owls that glided out of the woods at Lord Simon’s side. He yelped a warning just in time for Lord Simon to rein in his mount before it startled.

Niall and Harry could do little besides share bewildered glances as they watched their training master extend his hand to accept the scroll an owl carried and read its contents by the soft blue light of Liam’s magical gift. It was even more bewildering to see him nod curtly to the owls, who hooted softly in reply and flew a short way into the woods beside the path.

There could be only one explanation for why Lord Simon signaled the pages to follow the owls. “Daine,” Niall whispered. The pages closest to him breathed in sudden comprehension and looked slightly less skeptical about following birds through a dark wood.

Their guides led them to an overgrown gully that became muddier as they rode. There were no more whispers among the pages; the trees met over their narrow path, blocking the moon so that they had to rely on the horses’ better senses to follow the gully’s twists. With the stars hidden it was impossible to tell how much time had passed or even in which direction they were heading, and Niall began to feel like the suffocating ride would never end.

It was an enormous relief when the owls led them out of the gully and into dim predawn light that showed them the edge of the village surrounding Pirate’s Swoop. Lord Simon barely had time to whisper thanks to their guides before the owls were gliding away, most likely to find their roosts before the sun truly rose. He led them on through eerily silent streets; the villagers had already abandoned their homes to shelter behind the castle’s walls and hadn’t left behind so much as a cat. All the hours of darkness and silence weighed heavily on Niall, and the fog that began to drift in around them as the sun rose made it worse. It seemed to itch, setting the horses twitching. Beside him, Harry gasped and lurched sideways in the saddle, barely catching himself on the pommel.

“Harry!” Niall quickly reached out to steady him, bringing Rabble as close as he could. Other pages around them were in a similar state; a few didn’t manage to keep their seats.

Instead of answering, Harry held out his hand, palm up. He seemed to concentrate on it, but nothing happened.

“I think it’s a dampening spell,” he said. The words radiated away from them as pages whispered it to each other in fear. “It’s blocking my Gift.”

Niall opened his mouth to ask another question, but snapped it shut at the sound of distant hoofbeats. The enemy was in the village.

“Keep moving!” Lord Simon ordered. “We won’t find any answers until we reach the castle.”

The time for stealth had passed; they resettled themselves and broke into a gallop. With the castle gates in view Niall risked a glance back, but saw only the faces of the pages and horses behind him. The gates swung open to admit them into the home of Sir Alanna and her husband, Baron George Cooper, where they had to stop sharply lest they trample the crowd within. The dampening spells still had everyone on edge, but the courtyard bustled with villagers and servants erecting corrals for the animals. It was strange to see cows and chickens standing around waiting patiently, but at the same time Niall was relieved at a sign that the dampening spells weren’t affecting Daine. He hoped the king would reward her handsomely; the girl was worth her weight in gold.

Lord Simon had dismounted and was conferring with an enormous black man Niall had never seen before; the training master barely came up to his chin. The stranger seemed to take a quick count of their party before nodding and waving for them to follow him. Dismounting, they all walked their horses through the busy crowd to a stable that was full of what had to be the Queen’s Riders, who were all busy settling the horses and ponies who had come in from the village. One of them directed Niall into a stall while another pressed a brush into his hand and yet another went stall to stall, filling troughs and mangers. Servants arrived to trade tea and pastries stuffed with cheese and vegetables for the supplies they’d brought to share.

The lost sleep seemed to catch up with Niall all at once, leaving his head spinning. He cast about for Zayn, not too proud to admit that he could use some reassurance, and caught his eye just in time to see Lord Simon send him back out with a group of senior pages. The two of them shared one jolting look before Zayn was gone and reality crashed into the space between them. Liam, Louis and Cador had left as well, leaving Niall, Harry, Sigan and Eamon staring at the places where they’d been, stunned at being left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we've rejoined the Immortals War plot! Wikipedia said the estimated range of a medieval longbow is 180 to 249 yards which sounds BANANAS but okay Wikipedia I trust you.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](http://www.freewebs.com/lioness_fury/Tortall%20Map-Tamora%20Pierce.jpg) is a map of Tortall that shows you Pirate's Swoop on the coast. I couldn't find one that's less blurry, but you can just barely see the River Bonnett to give you some bearings.

Harry whipped his head around to find Niall and the boys gravitated toward each other immediately, but Lord Simon stopped Harry before they could stir two steps. Niall caught the words “with the healers” before Harry was gone too, and one of the Riders stepped forward to take over grooming his horse.

A strong hand clapped down on his shoulder and he turned to find Sigan, who gripped Eamon’s arm on his other side. “If they try to carry one of you off next I’ll scream. Where are they sending them all?”

“Harry’s gone to the healers, I expect because he’s got the Gift.” Niall chewed his lip and pulled away to groom Rabble before the others could see his hands shaking. “I don’t know where the others have gone.”

“What good is the Gift with these dampening spells on us?” Eamon wondered.

“Maybe they’ve got an answer for it,” Sigan mused, clutching at hope. “This is Lady Alanna’s home, after all.”

“Lady Alanna’s not here,” one of the Riders told them. She had a shock of ginger hair, cropped to a practical bob, and was grooming Harry’s horse with practiced ease. “She was called away; something about giants. But we’ve got Master Numair.” She knelt to start dealing with the mud caking the horse’s legs. “I’m Edwina. Everyone calls me Win.”

The boys smiled in spite of themselves. “That’s a lucky name on the day of a battle,” Niall said. “I’m Niall, and this is Eamon and Sigan. Can you tell us more about what’s going on? We’ve been riding all night and all we know is it’s something to do with Stormwings.”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know much either. They woke us a few hours before dawn when the villagers started arriving, and then this blasted fog hit. All I’ve done is stable horses all morning. I only know about the Stormwings because they gave Daine trouble on the way here.”

“They’re why we came,” Sigan piped up. Glancing at his friend, Niall was amused to see he was bright red. Win was very pretty, now that he thought about it. “One of them attacked our hunting party with a hurrok, but we killed them and rode here as soon as we could to warn the baron.”

 _We?_ Niall thought. Oh well. Let his friend have his boast. Behind Sigan, Eamon poked his head up so he could meet Niall’s eye over their horses’ backs. They shared a wink.

Win hadn’t looked up. “It’s lucky you did. Lady Alanna took some men with her, so it’s us and the castle guards against Stormwings, mages and gods know what else.”

Their spirits deflated, then a booming roar almost had them levitating out of their boots. “Gather ‘round!” It was the enormous black man from earlier. Niall gave Rabble one last stroke and received a sleepy nudge out of the stable to stand with the other boys--and girls.

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Sarge, with the Queen’s Riders.” This close, the man was easily a foot taller than Niall, and his arms and legs seemed as big around as Niall’s entire body. “We’re facing Carthaki pirates with war barges, along with Stormwings and mages. Here in the castle we’ve got eighty guards, the Riders, and the pages. They surrounded us in the night; we’re lucky the pages made it here, but any other aide will have to fight their way through enemy camps. We’d never get a company of knights through the same way, not with all their clank.

“The senior pages will take their orders from Lord Simon; the rest of you will have tasks, but we have no fighters to spare to command you. You’ll have to accept your work and do it well.” 

He began separating them into parties of varying sizes. Riders who knew the castle best would run messages . Niall and Eamon were in a party that would pair off into stretcher teams for carrying the wounded to the healers. Sigan had a moment to mutter “Guess I jinxed us” before he joined those designated to distribute ammunition on the curtain wall. All around them, Riders and pages were shaking hands and wishing each other luck. Sarge watched them for a moment, then set his shoulders. “Mithros ward us all.”

Then he was gone too.

+++

Niall and Eamon spent the rest of the morning rapidly stitching canvas stretchers and threading them onto poles while receiving a quick lesson on the ins and outs of the castle. The healers tents were in the courtyard between the walls and the castle proper, out of the reach of enemy archers. Niall and Eamon would be stationed at the corner of the southern and eastern walls, close to the stairs that led down into the grounds. Tortall spread out reassuringly on their left; its woods may have been full of the enemy, but it was still better than the cove to the south. There the Carthaki fleet laid in wait with their mages and catapults.

Toward midmorning a Stormwing passed overhead to hover in the air over the main castle deck, where Niall knew the baron and queen had to be. He wished he could hear what was said, but he couldn’t even watch; everyone on the wall had to keep their eyes on the enemy in the cove. Around them, the guards hadn’t so much as flinched at the sight of the immortal, although the armed villagers spread among their ranks looked anxious.

“It’s all right,” Niall whispered to a man beside him. “We did for one of them in the woods before we came. They die like anything else if you put an arrow through them.”

“They underestimate us,” Eamon added when others turned to listen, “but we’ll show them. They’ll know they can’t just enter our realm and terrorize us after we’ve thinned their ranks.”

The faces around them brightened, and they received approving nods from some of the guards. Niall grinned back. In all his worrying he’d forgotten what they were fighting for.

There were harsh screams at their backs, and before them a glowing gold square began to form over the Carthaki fleet, rooted by the red robed mages on the ships. Officers along the wall called for arrows on strings and Niall was seized with longing to carry a bow instead of a stretcher. _I could do it,_ he thought fiercely. _I’ve done it before. I could fight for the realm now._

He took a fighting stance as the square expanded, only to be knocked off his feet when its gold fire exploded. Stormwings burst out, saturating them all in a cloud of pure terror as their magic billowed before them along with their stench. People cried out in panic as officers bellowed for them to return to formation and draw their bows. Niall and Eamon levered themselves up with the stretcher poles and did their best to help the fighters around them, wrestling the fear that set their hearts racing.

More people cried out as Stormwings swooped at them, raking any unarmored flesh they could find and causing devastation with every beat of their wings. The boys were shocked to find that the first person they ran to was already dead; the man had been decapitated.

“Here!” a guard shouted. Beside him, a village woman passed her bow to someone else before collapsing, blood soaking her dress from a deep cut across her back. Her quiver lay on the wall; its strap had been cut.

They loaded her face down on their stretcher and carried her down without a word. As they did, there was a cheer around them, and the air suddenly filled with the rainbow glow of magical Gifts. Numair or someone else had lifted the dampening spells.

“You’ll be all right now, miss,” Eamon was saying. “With their Gifts back the healers will have you patched in no time.”

Niall gathered his wits to chime in, then stopped; the woman was unconscious. They carried her into the nearest healers tent and transferred her into a cot. When Niall looked up, he was startled to meet Harry’s eyes. His friend flashed a dimpled grin before summoning his Gift, which glowed with a soft, misty green. A woman behind him instructed him in cleaning the wound even as her own hands closed a gash on a guard’s scalp.

They couldn’t linger. As they returned to the wall they had to stop and duck as enemy archers sent a volley over the wall, only to have the Tortallans respond in kind. Niall expected it to be chaos with the villagers, but was pleasantly surprised to see that they formed ranks neatly, firing and reloading in turns to keep up steady fire that sent the enemy behind their shields. Clearly the nobles of Pirate’s Swoop were wise enough to train their people in their own defense.

Hours passed. The steep hill to the palace practice courts hadn’t prepared Niall for the countless trips up and down the steps for the wall, carrying both the wounded and the dead. The sun overhead was relentless, and Niall hadn’t had time to apply his sun balm before rushing out. He could feel every hour of their night ride jarring through bones that ached from the stone steps and the weight of the stretcher, and his skull seemed to be full of angry wasps.

Eamon didn’t seem to be faring much better. His brow was pinched with what looked like a fierce headache; Niall could feel something similar creeping up on him.

On their next trip to the tent, Harry stopped them. “You two look worse than the people you’re carrying. Drink up.” He thrust two tankards at them that smelled strongly of tomato. Niall swallowed a mouthful before realizing how vile it tasted; he and Eamon shared disgusted looks before Harry cleared his throat loudly, prompting them to throw their heads back and gulp it down as quickly as possible.

Coolness spread through Niall’s body, soothing the sting of his sunburn and the aches from his limbs and back. Eamon actually moaned in relief, cradling his head.

“I could kiss you,” Niall sighed. Harry only stuck out his tongue and handed them a tray with cups full of the tonic to distribute on the wall, and servants met them outside the tent with food and water skins to carry up as well. Eamon took that while Niall hoisted the stretcher over one shoulder so they each had a hand for the tray. Carrying a burden _up_ the stairs instead of down nearly brought them to their knees, but the fighters cheered when they saw them. More Riders and pages joined them with more provisions. Niall envied those who were asked to take up bows so their owners could eat. He and Eamon had two wounded to escort back down, and couldn’t stop.

With his head cleared, he had the energy to worry about Zayn and the others. They would all be exhausted and frightened. They might even be hurt.

“The others will never let us hear the end of this,” Eamon said suddenly. They helped the fighters onto a bench to await healers and started back, stretching their tired arms as they went. “They’re all fighting for glory while we’re carrying tea trays.”

The smile he directed at Niall didn’t reach his eyes; he was worried too. Niall forced himself to smile back. “I’m sure Louis has already decided he’ll have won the battle single-handedly. I can already see Zayn rolling his eyes at him in the mess hall while he tells us.”

He paused a few yards away from the wall and looked up. There were more stretcher bearers hard at work. Fighters who had rested were returning to replace them, but their numbers were still dwindling. As he watched, a flock of birds burst out of the woods to harry the Stormwings, and Niall winced as some of them dropped out of the sky, cut to pieces, before the rest retreated.

Eamon shook his head and turned so he could walk backwards while squinting up at the castle deck, where Queen Thayet, Baron George and Master Numair had to be, along with Daine and their advisors. “Still, I hope they’ve got some kind of plan, because we’re not winning this fight.”

Troubled, they trudged up the stairs, then nearly dove off them to avoid the Stormwing that had made it past the archers and arched toward them.

“The pink pig that killed Makur!” she screamed. “We will build his pyre on your bones!”

Niall panicked. They were unarmed, and the stair provided no cover. They didn’t even have the stretcher poles since they’d left it on the wall. The Stormwing wheeled around for a second pass and barreled straight for him, wings and talons ready to rip him apart.

He was raising his arms in a desperate block just as someone stepped in front of him and and the immortal immediately veered to the side, gushing blood from a deep belly cut.

To complete his shock, it was Conal. It took him long moments to understand that the older page had gutted the monster with the spear he carried. Conal only paused long enough to smile wryly before running back up to the wall.

Niall shook his head to clear it, then gaped again as an enormous red dragon appeared out of nowhere over the courtyard and dove for the castle deck. Mage lights billowed towards it but it seemed to brush away the spells like dandelion fluff. He stared, then slowly turned to look at Eamon, who was looking at him.

“ _What the hell?_ ” Eamon whispered.

Niall shook his head again, and again, but the dragon was still there. “If the others aren’t seeing this they are never, ever going to believe us.”

Eamon squinted. “Is that Daine, on the castle wall?”

“I think so. Maybe she can talk to it.” At any rate, the dragon wasn’t attacking any longer. “Come on. We’ve rested enough.”

They scrambled to their feet and returned to their position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The millionth or so time that I read these books I realized how FUCKING INSANE the siege of Pirate’s Swoop would have been to anyone who wasn’t rubbing elbows with the nobles and therefore didn’t know what was going on 99% of the time.


	13. Chapter 13

The siege continued into the afternoon. Niall’s nerves were worn thin. He wasn’t sure what was worse: carrying the dead, or carrying the wounded who screamed with terrible injuries. He and Eamon couldn’t do anything for them but get them to the healers as quickly as possible. With every trip, he looked for his friends, but didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried when he didn’t see them. He would have given anything to know that Zayn was in the healer’s tents, safe, with some minor wound. He itched to fight, to defend these people, but the Swoop had no better use for a first-year page who’d never been tested in battle.

Their enemy hadn’t breached the walls, but neither had they used the catapults on their war barges that could reduce the entire castle to rubble. Niall had a horrible feeling that they were content to pick off the defenders one by one, wearing them down until Queen Thayet had no choice but to surrender herself and her children over to the enemy. The Stormwings got what they wanted regardless of what happened. He’d seen them in the open ground outside the walls, fouling the bodies of the enemy dead. At least he could make sure that their own people would be buried whole and unspoiled.

“Mullingar!”

He spun around, and was startled to see Lord Simon. “My lord?”

“You’re needed at the rear.” The training master turned him by his shoulder and spoke rapidly as they made their way down the wall. “The Swoop’s guards tried to punch a hole through the enemy camps to the north and we need to cover their retreat, but we can’t spare any archers from the waterfront.”

Once in the open ground of the courtyard they broke into a run. He had no idea what to expect when he reached his post, but it wasn’t Prince Liam and Princes Kalasin. The princess carried a long bow and quiver, and Liam was casting a magical shield over them both, along with a strange woman at their side.

Niall jerked to a halt and bowed. Liam made a face, but Niall had never met any of the other royal family before and etiquette overruled Liam’s distaste for formality. “Your Highnesses.” To the princess he added, “Is that for me?”

She nodded, passing it to him along with a quiver. “It’s Daine’s. It’s the only one no one was using.”

Niall faltered, nearly dropping the quiver. “Is--she’s not--”

“She’s fine,” Kalasin said, smiling. “It was the dragon. It was pregnant and its baby needed healing, and it pulled the magic from Daine by mistake.”

“Oh.” Niall couldn’t even begin to process that. “Thank you for bringing her bow.” He bowed again, and turned to look over the open ground between the castle’s rear wall and the wood. Stormwings circled overhead, jeering. The guards were moving slowly with their shields held on all sides, but he could see that they had wounded they were trying to carry, and their archers were out of arrows; they needed help.

“Liam, can you shield them that far away?”

His friend shook his head. His normally placid face was twisted with frustration. “I don’t have that much range, and I can’t do more than one shield at a time. I have to make sure Kally and Maude are safe to heal the guards when they get back.”

Maude must be the strange woman. Niall nodded and strung the bow. It was even harder to bend than his bow back at the palace; Daine must be stronger than she looked. “Let’s make sure they get a chance to do their jobs.”  
He practiced drawing the bow a few times. It was shorter than his, but it felt powerful; he was sure he’d get a good range out of it. “Can I shoot through your shield?”

“Yes.” Liam seemed to be holding the shield with no effort at all, which was reassuring. “Here.” The shield’s color bled to the edges, leaving Niall a clear window. 

Niall had an arrow on his string and in the air in an instant. His target was lagging behind its fellows; they didn’t see it fall. He picked off two more Stormwings before they realized what was happening.

He was dimly aware of Kalasin and Maude cheering, of Lord Simon taking his leave, but he didn’t let himself be distracted. The Stormwings were wheeling towards them, which simply meant they made easier targets. His arrows found throats and eyes, while Liam’s shield blocked the immortal’s magical fires. On the ground, the guards were within fifty yards of the gate and closing quickly; when a Stormwing swooped low to harry them he saw that they had their wounded on their backs and had broken into a run. He ignored the immortals still attacking him, trusting Liam’s shield, and focused on swatting any Stormwing that got within twenty feet of the guards.

It seemed to be over as soon as it began, but when the guards were inside and he lowered his bow, he realized Liam was sweating, and he was aching miserably from shooting with arms that were already worn out from stretcher duty. He stretched, wincing, then felt blessed warmth race through his body, re-knitting torn muscles and reducing the swelling that had begun.

It was Kalasin. “Mithros,” he murmured, grinning at her. “Thank you, Highness. You’ll have those guards patched in no time, won’t you?”

Maude laid a hand on her shoulder to guide her down. “Yes, she will. Come along Kalasin. It’s our turn now.”

Niall stretched again, reveling in his refreshed state. “Eamon’s gonna kill me. He kept saying he thought his arms were going to pop off his body.”

Liam’s face fell. “Have you been fighting?” he asked.

“Nah, not the first-years. We’re all running errands. Eamon and I are on stretcher duty.” He tried to keep his smile, but the flush of success was fading rapidly. “Have you been fighting?”

Liam shook his head, and glared at the castle decks. “They won’t let me. I’ve been casting shields for the others all morning but they won’t let me go out to the wall.” He clenched his fist. “These are my people! I should be defending _them_ , not my mother! She can take care of herself.”

Niall rubbed his back. “I know. I’ve been dying to fight too, but Liam, you’re the future of the entire realm.” He looked over the courtyard. He could see their own dead, laid under clean sheets. After that day, he could picture their friends there far too easily. “We’re all fighting for our future right now. You can’t expect the people to risk you on the front line, not yet.” He slung an arm around Liam, who was crumbling with guilt and frustration. “I’m sorry. I know that didn’t make it better.”

Liam took a deep breath and straightened. “No, you did. You reminded me I’ll get my chance.” He looked back over the courtyard and the wall beyond. “We just need to make it through this. The army can’t march, but Lady Alanna and the King’s Own are on their way.”

“What do you mean, our army can’t march?” Niall waved his arms wildly, indicating the entire siege. “Isn’t this a war?”

“There aren’t any flags on those barges, and their soldiers aren’t wearing uniforms. For diplomatic purposes, this is a raid, not an act of war.”

Niall’s entire mind rebelled against that knowledge. “No. I--they can’t just do that!”

“They can.” Liam smiled wryly. “Aren’t you glad you’ll just be a simple knight? I’m the one who has to learn all this.”

He reached for the bow, but Niall hugged it to himself. “No. I love this bow. I’m keeping it. It must have shot nearly three hundred yards!” All right, two hundred and fifty at best. Small difference. Louis would be telling bigger fibs than that in the mess.

Liam laughed, to Niall’s relief. “You’ll have to fight Daine for it, and I don’t like your odds.”

Pouting, he handed it over along with the quiver and began to leave. As he turned, Liam caught his shoulder. His eyes were troubled. “Niall...be safe out there.”

He blinked. “I will.” There was an awkward moment, so Niall shrugged it away and hugged his friend. “You be careful too.”

They clasped arms, then squared their shoulders simultaneously. Laughing at each other, they parted.

Back on the wall, archers were lowering their bows. The sun was low behind the Carthaki barges, and the sun was in their eyes. Rather than pressing their advantage, the raiders were retreating for the day, collecting their fallen as best they could considering the Stormwings had been at them. Niall was appalled. Who would fight for rulers who allowed their soldiers to be defiled by their own allies?

He found Eamon, who was talking to a guardsman, looking uncomfortable. Niall caught the thread of their conversation. “You’ve done nothing but stand around all day,” the guard was saying. “While we’ve been doing all the fighting. Why can’t you take first watch?”

The normally articulate Minchi was struggling for words. “We--I mean, I know, we’ve just been running errands, it’s just--”

“We haven’t slept,” Niall interrupted. “We rode through the night to get here, and we’ve not had a proper meal all day. Eamon and I have been up and down these stairs more times today than you have in a month, carrying more weight.” The guard looked furious, but Niall stood his ground. “We’ll take first watch if we have to, but don’t tell us we’ve had an easy day of it.” He softened a little. “They’re setting up mess tables in the courtyard. If you go now, you’ll be able to catch your breath for a few minutes before everyone else gets there.”

The guard sneered and stalked away. Niall let out a breath.

“Thanks,” Eamon said. “I thought he was going to chuck me over the wall.”

“He might have. I can’t blame him.” Eamon arched a brow. “Not because of you, sorry. Because of...well.” He gestured vaguely. There was no need to be specific.

They made their way toward the mess tables slowly. Eamon joked that he was half afraid they’d get sent back to the wall with dinner trays for those who stayed, and Niall smiled but kept his eyes on the stones under his feet. Eamon nudged him, then sighed. “It’s all right. I’m afraid to look for them too.”

To Niall’s shame, his throat caught. “They might just be staying on the wall if they’re not here,” he said quickly. “I know Liam’s fine, at least. I saw him when Lord Simon pulled me away.”

Eamon’s eyes lit up. Telling the story distracted them both through collecting food and finding a place to sit; with all the bustle around them, it was almost like being back in the pages’ mess. With their eyes fixed on their plates it was easy to pretend that they weren’t straining their ears, desperate for a familiar voice.

At last, they heard one too loud to ignore. “Did you see me bring down that big black and grey one? Smashed it, didn’t I?”

“Louis!”

They were out of their seats and tackling their friend in an instant. Louis laughed and hugged them back, but also looked mildly irritated at having been interrupted. Beside him, Sigan pouted until Niall spotted him and pulled him into the tangle.

“So there’s three of you whelps,” Louis said as they broke apart. “Where’s the rest of our merry band?”

“Harry’s in the healer’s tents,” Eamon said. Louis rolled his eyes and waved as if to say _yes of course I know where Harry is_. “Liam’s with the Queen. We haven’t seen anyone else.”

“That big lout Conal saw you and Eamon earlier,” Sigan added.

“Yeah he, well, actually he saved our lives. From that.” Eamon pointed to where the dead Stormwing had been pushed against the inner wall and covered with a tarp. The tips of its wings had slid out and glinted dully in the torchlight. “I expect now I’ll have to be nice to him until I get a chance to save him from something too.”

Niall couldn’t keep still. “Has anyone seen Zayn?”

Sigan looked down while Louis looked up at the first stars. Niall’s heart sank. “Do you know where he was posted? Maybe I could ask around.”

“I’m sorry Niall,” Louis said. “Everything happened so quickly.

“We don’t know where Cador is either,” Sigan muttered. “I tried to go look in the healer’s tents but they wouldn’t let me in.”

“You don’t want to go in there right now anyway.” That was Harry, who waved at them all before folding into Louis’ side, obviously exhausted. “Master Numair’s been lifting the dampener spells all this time so we could work, but he’s resting now; he must be absolutely wrecked. No magic means no painkillers except teas.” He glanced back at the tents, then coughed to hide a shudder they all pretended not to see. “Willow bark’s not doing anyone in there much good.”

They were quiet through the quick dinner. Everyone expected Harry at least to be back to work afterward, but he shook his head. “They kicked me out.” His dimple flashed briefly. “Said not to come back until I’d eaten and slept at least six hours.”

There were chambers below the castle where they could sleep, but Niall shivered; it would be like sleeping in a tomb. He chose to spread his bedroll in the stable loft above Rabble instead. She had been anxious all day; warhorses were not bred to stand quietly in stables while the fight happened outside, and there was no room in the courtyard to exercise her. Besides, all the grooms had joined in the fighting, along with every willing and able castle servant.

The rest of his friends had chosen to stay together while they could, so he was alone with the horses. He knew the others wanted him close too, but he couldn’t stand being with them and not know where Zayn was. The stories they were all telling made it even worse. Sigan had spent an hour fetching javelins for Sarge, the Riders’ trainer, before a Stormwing nearly crushed him with a dropped stone. Harry said the best healers were working on him and likely would be through the night, but Niall couldn’t feel relieved. If a grown man the size of a bear had fallen, what hope did Zayn have?

Below him, Rabble was stamping and snorting in her stall, and the other horses were no quieter. He murmured to them, then, when that didn’t work, began to sing all the poems he’d had to memorize for class. 

The animals were all asleep after the first round. He finally slept halfway through the third.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so IN ADDITION TO wanting to make Liam a Disney prince, I also wanted to, um, make him Captain America. So of course he's a mage whose ability is to create shields.


	14. Chapter 14

Niall had woken and mucked half a dozen stalls by the time the stable hands arrived the next morning, and was reluctant to hand over his pitchfork. When he walked out the door, he’d be on stretcher duty again. He would have mucked the entire stable if he could stand to shirk his duty for just a bit longer.

Breakfast was a subdued affair, only mildly improved by Cador’s presence; their friend had stayed on the wall for first watch while the rest of them were eating supper the night before. Queen Thayet and Baron George may have been elsewhere in the castle making rousing speeches, but out in the courtyard only Louis made an attempt at cheer.

“Come on, lads!” he said. Only the proximity of the healing tents kept him from bellowing. “It’s a new day, and there’s no telling how this battle will go. King Jonathan’s had a day and a night to get some help to us. We just have to last until it gets here.”

“It’s not a question of us lasting,” Cador said. “It’s a question of when the Carthakis will get tired of waiting and start using their cata--ow!”

He glared at Louis, rubbing his pinched arm. “It’s no use babying them!” Cador snapped. “You weren’t fooling anyone anyway.”

Louis glared back. “I thought we might pretend long enough to get some breakfast down.” He nodded toward Sigan, who was pushing his porridge around silently. Repentant, Cador rubbed Sigan’s back briskly and spoke to him quietly, urging him to eat.

That left Louis with Harry, Eamon and Niall. Niall tried to smile at Louis’ efforts and forced himself to eat. He wanted _his_ sponsor, damn it. When Zayn didn’t appear at breakfast, he found his eyes wandering to the rows of the dead. Varicolored magelights shimmered over the swathed forms, protecting them until they could be buried. Their presence was proof that Master Numair was still lifting the dampener spells and possibly had all through the night. Niall had to wonder how much longer he could hold out.

They all took their positions on the wall as a Stormwing flew overhead and up to the castle, where Niall could just make out Queen Thayet and her advisors. He and Eamon eyed each other grimly. It was a no-win scenario. Either Thayet surrendered and Tortall lost its queen and all the direct heirs to the throne, or she refused and the Carthakis leveled the castle and took her and her children anyway.

They had their answer when two of the catapults fired. Luckily, the Carthakis misjudged the distance and struck only the cliff face below the wall, but it was still enough to have everyone staggering. Niall dropped to a knee and pulled Eamon down with him, bracing themselves as another stone ball soared overhead to smash one of the castle towers.

The next one struck the wall.

Niall fell flat and was dimly aware of Eamon or someone else falling on him. His ears rang with screams blended with roared orders to retreat, fall back, get down into the castle, but he couldn’t obey. He’d kept a grip on the stretcher through it all, and he could hear the cries of the wounded.

Something flashed overhead, shining through the dust choking the air. Still dazed, Niall vaguely registered that it was a dragon, a gold one, and it was attacking the ships. 

He gave up on trying to comprehend it. He scrambled to his feet and pulled Eamon up with him. The boys clung to each other as they moved across the wreckage. Niall kept his head down, on the crumbled stones and the people trapped beneath them. They weren’t the only ones; many of the guards and villagers had stayed to help rather than run for the relative safety of the castle’s lower levels.

It was utter chaos. At one point there was a chorused cry and Niall looked up in time to see the dragon fall from the sky, crashing through one barge and sinking it even as others prepared to fire on the castle again. So that was it. There was no hope for them save trying to survive the destruction.

Niall and Eamon dug until their hands bled, pulling stones off those who could still run. They gave the stretcher to the first person who reached for it. There were so many people trapped. The two of them couldn’t bear the responsibility of deciding who would be carried away and who left behind.

Another chorused scream broke out on the wall, yanking Niall’s attention out over the water. He froze, staring as enormous tentacles rose out of the waves, tipping barges and destroying ships. He swayed, and Eamon clutched his shoulder, nearly fainting. It was too much. A few weeks of history and etiquette lessons hadn’t prepared them to cope with what was happening right in front of their eyes.

A broken sob for help called his attention back to his task. He and Eamon stood again, but they were staggering. They didn’t hear the horns that announced the arrival of the King’s Own from the north and east, and so didn’t realize that help had arrived until the men of the Own began moving among them, gently prying crumbled stone from their hands and sending them away as they took over the rescue efforts. Niall stumbled into what he thought was a horse but which turned out to be Sir Raoul, Knight Commander of the King’s Own, who towered over them almost as tall as Sarge. He smiled at them kindly and nudged them toward the healers tents, ordering them to sit and wait until someone was free to tend to them.

Having clear orders was a blessing, especially ones so easily obeyed. They found a spot in the narrow space between two tents where they could be out of the way and not see more than they wanted. They didn’t know how long they’d been there before a healer spotted them propped up against each other with scabbed-over hands in their laps; long enough that their legs had gone stiff and they needed help getting up.

The tent they entered contained more benches than beds and the injuries being treated seemed less severe. The healer who found them healed their hands quickly, giving them mugs of herbal tea as soon as they could hold them. They sipped quietly and let healers address their various bumps and bruises at their discretion, happy to obey when told to stay put and rest. 

Niall was aware when someone came and stood in front of him, but he didn’t want to look up. He was staying put and resting. He’d do something else when the next order came.

Someone else settled on the bench beside him, close enough that their legs were touching, and wrapped an arm around him. That was fine; they were warm, and Niall felt half frozen.

He didn’t move except to catch Eamon’s sleeve when his friend stood up. He wasn’t ready to be alone, but Eamon smiled and pried his hand off. The person in front of him turned out to be Harry, who smiled too before leading Eamon away.

The person beside him twisted to straddle the bench and wrap both arms around him and he leaned into their chest, all resistance gone. He didn’t realize he was crying until a rough hand scraped his face, wiping away tears.

“It’s okay,” Zayn said. “I’ve got you.”

Of course it was Zayn. Niall wanted to be happy but instead he fell apart, pulling his legs up to huddle in a ball against Zayn’s chest and sob. Zayn held him, stroking his back, his hair, his legs, everything he could reach, and kept up a steady murmur of reassurance until the storm had passed.

“I looked for you,” Niall finally mumbled into Zayn’s chest. “They had me on stretchers and every person--all those people lying under their sheets--every single time, I thought it was you.”

“I’m here,” Zayn said. “Thanks to you.”

Faces and injuries raced through Niall’s mind. He could remember all of them, from the first woman they’d carried through to the last man he’d dug out of the ruined wall. “I didn’t. Did I?”

He felt Zayn nod against his hair. “You did. On the north wall.” He shifted, releasing one arm so Niall could lower his legs and use his ruined shirt to mop up his face. “I was with the group that attacked the enemy camp.” He lowered his head to Niall’s shoulder and Niall thought he felt the briefest touch of Zayn’s lips through his shirt. “Daine’s animals told her one of the neighboring fiefs were trying to send aide so we hoped to punch through. Stupid probably, but we were desperate.”

Niall turned then, quickly scooting back on the bench so he could look at Zayn properly. He looked fine, but his open collar showed the edges of bandages around his right shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

“I’ll be fine. Healed by no less a person than Her Highness Princess Kalasin.” He rotated his arm and Niall let out an enormous sigh. “Could probably take the bandages off, but if I so much as poke them someone comes storming over to pour tea down my throat and make me lie down.” 

He hesitated, then clapped his hand on Niall’s shoulder. “You were amazing, you know. Up on the wall, clear against the sky, framed by Liam’s shield. Like something out of legend.”

Niall could only grip his wrist; there were too many people around to throw himself on top of Zayn the way he wanted. “Mithros, Zayn, if I’d known you were there I would’ve been useless.”

“No, you would’ve saved me just the same.” 

He smiled, and Niall nearly lost it. He thought he knew how handsome Zayn was, but he’d never looked better than he did at that moment. “Can we get out of here, do you think? Out of the castle too? Find a quiet haystack somewhere?”

Zayn laughed, and Niall nearly groaned with frustration. “I doubt it. They’re probably still rounding up the surrendered troops. How did we win, anyway? I’ve been here since yesterday and no one would tell me anything.”

Niall told him what he could, not bothering to argue with Zayn’s disbelief once he got to the dragon and the enormous tentacles sinking the Carthaki fleet. He’d had trouble believing in them when they were right in front of him.

“So I suppose the moral of the story is to stay on Daine’s good side,” he finished.

Zayn whistled. “No kidding.” He was glancing around them already, sharp eyes taking note of where they might be of assistance. Niall didn’t want to get up. If they got up they’d have to help, which wouldn’t be bad, but he’d also have to stop touching Zayn, which would be _horrible_.

A healer stopped by with a damp cloth so Niall could wipe his face and hands properly, then examined them one last time before telling them they could go.

An air of ordered chaos awaited them outside the tent. Villagers were streaming out of the castle keep to clear rubble and carry food and water while the King’s Own and the surviving castle guards finished rounding up enemy soldiers beyond the walls. Niall and Zayn drifted about until they found a man organizing groups to arm themselves with staffs and check the village for any hidden nastiness so that the people could return to their homes. They volunteered at once and wandered away from the others as soon as possible, dashing into an open stable.

“Wait, wait,” Zayn said breathlessly while Niall did his best to climb him like a tree. “We have to actually check the place first.”

They darted through the small space, looking in all the stalls and jabbing their staffs into the hay in the loft. Niall reached his corner and turned to tell Zayn he was done only to be knocked flat on his back when Zayn dove for him.

Finally, finally! He had his hands up under Zayn’s shirt in a moment, running his hands over all the skin he could reach without disturbing his bandages. Zayn’s breath caught, just like it had at night in their bedrolls, and Niall was suddenly, blindingly hard, rocking up desperately when Zayn moaned and ground his hips against Niall’s thigh.

“Let me kiss you,” he pleaded, bracing his hands on either side of Niall’s head. “Please, can I kiss you?”

Niall laughed. “You can do anything you want to me.” He licked his lips and panicked for a moment; he still tasted like the horrible tea he’d had in the healer’s tent.

Zayn’s lips were on him before he could do something foolish, like turn away, and the next thing he knew several minutes seemed to have passed without him noticing them at all. Zayn’s lips were as plush as they looked and his kisses were slow and firm, moving against Niall in waves of pressure that made his toes curl. He realized at some point he’d gone completely pliant against the hay, spreading his legs so Zayn could fit between them, and blushed hotly.

Apparently he was a bit of a slut.

Zayn flicked his tongue out to wet Niall’s lip and he made a _very_ embarrassing mewling sound, but Zayn was pulling away and standing. “What, no, why are you stopping?”

“We don’t have time,” Zayn said, regret written all over his face. “We still have this whole street to check, and then they’ll need us for something else.”

He gave Niall a hand up and pulled him close for one last, lingering kiss. “And when-- _if_ I make love to you, we’ll need time.”

Niall held onto Zayn’s shoulders, careful with the side that was still bandaged. “We will?”

“Mm-hmm.” Zayn nodded, biting his reddened lip so it flushed even darker. “Hours, maybe days.”

He winked as he turned away, and Niall’s cock twitched futilely. Limping a little, he followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *laughs nervously* *ducks and runs away*
> 
> Also, reading Wild Mage by Tamora Pierce will tell you what the fresh hell was up with the dragon and the tentacles, but only the people standing right next to Daine up on the castle deck would have understood. I can't get over how completely insane the Immortals War would have been for normal people.


	15. Chapter 15

They slept in the castle that night. With the villagers free to return to their homes, the rooms weren’t so claustrophobic. It was still somewhat chaotic; pages and Riders were milling about, searching for friends. It took Niall and Zayn some time to find Eamon and Sigan, and still more time to find a space for themselves.

“Wonder how long they’ll keep us here,” Eamon mused. “There’s work to do, but the villagers are able.”

“I suppose that’s up to Lord Simon,” Niall said.

Sigan flinched. “Lord Simon is dead.”

That produced a stunned silence, then a clamor as the other boys as well as nearby pages demanded to know more. Sigan waited for them to quiet down. “It was the same Stormwing that nearly killed Sarge. Lord Simon ran it through but it still got his throat before it died.” He gulped. “I was right behind him, bringing Sarge more javelins. I didn’t know for sure until I asked at the tents today.”

Niall was deeply shaken. Lord Simon was the only adult he’d known among the nobles of Corus; with his family so far away, it was like being orphaned. Sergeant Valdeo, Iorek Balstad and the Mithran priests who taught the afternoon classes barely knew his name.

The others were all busy discussing who might become their new training master when Louis and Harry found them. They both dove into the discussion eagerly, naming fiefs that Niall only vaguely recognized. For his part, Niall kept silent. He didn’t have the first idea who might replace Lord Simon, and he was exhausted. He forced a smile when Zayn furrowed his brow at him, concerned, then shuffled into his bedroll and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

+++

The castle’s bells didn’t wake them until mid-morning the next day. When they’d finished breakfast in the courtyard, Baron George Cooper came out to make an official announcement of Lord Simon’s passing, and led them for a moment of silent prayer.

“If you’ll stay and help us with the reconstruction for a few days,” he continued, “you’ll be able to train with the Queen’s Riders, and accompany them on the ride back to Corus.”

Helping with the reconstruction turned out to mean hauling away crumbled stone and returning with roughly quarried stone for the masons who did the actual building. Their warhorses balked at being hitched up to carts, but the pages were used to cajoling them by then, and Daine came to help persuade them. It was exhausting work, but with so many helping it went quickly, leaving time for equally exhausting afternoon training sessions with Sarge and Rider Commander Buriram Tourikoum. Niall was grateful. It had been an overwhelming couple of days, so a chance to shut up and work until he dropped was welcome. By the end of the day, he was almost tired enough to not mind the fact that he and Zayn couldn’t get a moment alone together.

The road back to the palace was merry. The Rider’s shaggy mountain ponies were even more spirited than the warhorses, who towered over them with haughty disapproval at their antics. The pages could be glad that they only had one troublesome mount while each Rider had two to manage. He was happy to see that Win, the girl they’d met on the first day, had survived to ride beside Sigan and tease him until he was beet red. Sarge and Buri were also a lot less strict than Lord Simon had been, not enforcing a formation or bellowing for quiet every hundred yards. Niall hoped their new training master would be similarly lax, then mentally berated himself for thinking ill of Lord Simon so soon after his death.

Daine proved to be entertaining company, whether she wanted to be or not. For one thing, she drove the Rider’s cart with a baby _dragon_ at her side; Niall and Rabble had nearly walked into a ditch when they saw. The Wildmage had laughed and invited them closer to meet Skysong, called Kit, who curled into a neat ball at Daine’s side and chirruped sociably when Rabble stretched over the side of the cart and blew at her gently. It also wasn’t uncommon for birds or other animals to hitch rides on the cart, or with the pages and Riders once Daine explained that they were all very nice and wouldn’t try to pet the animals (whom she called People) more than they wanted.

The first night they camped Niall turned to Zayn eagerly, but the other boy had already closed his eyes, seemingly asleep. The same thing happened the following night. Niall pouted through the mornings, but Zayn only laughed and whispered, “Wait.”

It was good to arrive back at the palace late on the last afternoon and settle Rabble in her own familiar stall. It was even better to have a proper bath; Pirate’s Swoop and its village didn’t have the accommodations for so many youths, and they’d been washing in cold streams and dressing in dusty shirts and breeches they could only rinse mostly clean. Fresh clothes and a hot meal he hadn’t had to go out and shoot for himself made Niall feel like a new man.

There was an expectant murmur in the mess hall as the meal wound down. A strange man had joined Sergeant Valdeo at the head table, and there could be only one explanation for his presence. No one was surprised when the mess doors opened and a servant announced the king.

They all stood to bow, but King Jonathan held his hands up. “Please, keep your seats. You have done me a great service; the least I can do is let you rest.”

He paused to wait as they resettled themselves, watching with an expression of mingled remorse and pride. “You have been tested, and you have proven your immeasurable valor. I cannot even say that you are a credit to your teachers, for some of you were sent in untrained and unprepared, but proved yourselves regardless, and defended not only our realm but also my wife and children. Neither I nor the kingdom will ever be able to thank you enough.

“We suffered. There are empty seats here that mark our losses; even one would be too costly. In Lord Simon of Cowell the kingdom has lost a noble and loyal servant who worked tirelessly for many years to lead boys by his excellent example of chivalry and determination. He will be honored ever after as a hero of the realm.

“Such a man can never be truly replaced, but your training is too important to set aside even in mourning. Tortall is blessed with many brave and noble knights, and I am relieved to announce that one of them has accepted the post of training master. Lord Wyldon of Cavall will be guiding you with his excellent expertise and experience, and I have the utmost faith in him.”

At the king’s gesture Lord Wyldon stood. He had grim features accentuated by a bald pate and thick mustache. Niall got the immediate sense that here was a man who would drive them hard, and who would be scrupulously just if it killed him.

“I am fortunate enough to begin my tenure with favorable news,” he said. “You will have a half holiday tomorrow, with no training in the morning. You will, however, be expected to arrive promptly for your afternoon classes. The day after tomorrow I will see you bright and early on the practice courts, and will be taking my measure of you.” His steely gaze ranged over the pages; not a few of them squirmed under the scrutiny. “With all that has been said of you I expect to be impressed. May Mithros guide you.”

There was a pause, followed by a ragged “So mote it be” from the pages. It was the first time anyone had invoked a specific god to a general assembly since Niall’s arrival. He exchanged a glance with Zayn, and saw Harry and Louis doing the same. Changes were already afoot, and he wasn’t sure he liked them.

The pages were subdued as they left mess hall, but Harry and Louis perked up once they were out of the adults’ view, proposing that they spend the evening with their collected families and the free morning down in the city. The others accepted readily, eager to meet all the sisters they’d heard so much about. Niall, however, wasn’t tempted, although he did his best to appear remorseful as he gave his regrets, saying he wanted to write to his brother and father to let them know what had happened and that he was all right. Zayn echoed his regrets, reminding them that he had his own mother and sisters to reassure.

Niall waved to their friends at the turn toward the pages’ hall, only to halt in dismay when Zayn left with the others. At Niall’s confused pout, he laughed and doubled back.

“I do actually need to see my family,” he explained, “and you really should write to yours. I come and find you after, I promise.” Glancing around, he leaned closer to whisper, “And if you start without me, I’ll make you finish without me too.”

Niall had no idea what exactly he put in the letter to his family, although he did look over it several times as he wrote to make sure he hadn’t meandered off into an ode to Zayn’s eyelashes or worse, the feel of his lean body pressing Niall’s into the floor.

At that thought he gave up, dashed off some closing lines about how he missed them and hoped their studies were going well, then signed off and sealed the letter with unsteady hands. It hadn’t been a long letter, and had probably only taken him minutes to write. Zayn would spend longer than that with his family. He needed a distraction.

By the next time the bell rang Niall was pink cheeked and rumpled with the exertion of practicing his hand to hand fighting. He’d barely finished his last pattern of blocks and blows before there were hands on his waist and soft lips on the back of his neck. “You _cannot_ do this,” Zayn groaned. “If you let me come back and find you like this too much I am never going to live through the morning practice ever again.”

“That’s probably a problem,” Niall replied, turning half so he could see Zayn and half just to feel Zayn’s hands slide around his waist. “Since you’re supposed to help me with my training every evening.”

They kissed, and Niall furrowed his brows in an effort to not lose track of it as he had at Pirate’s Swoop. He wanted to remember everything, from the way Zayn’s thumbs stroked along his lowest ribs as he pulled Niall closer to the way that Zayn’s broad back tapered down to his waist; Niall couldn’t stop tracing the flare of his shape once he got his hands on him.

Zayn’s kisses were slow and firm, like before, up until Niall went to deepen the kiss and Zayn just _melted_ , going soft and pliant and letting Niall’s tongue past his lips to twine with his and Niall lost his mind, kissing harder the softer Zayn became. He started fumbling with Zayn’s clothes, wanting to get at all the skin he’d seen when they bathed, but Zayn avoided him, twisting away from his hands without ever actually pulling away. The motions sent their hips rocking and brushing against each other and Niall groaned, trying to turn them to press Zayn against the wall only to get spun and pinned against it himself.

“Zayn, what-- _oh_.” His protests died in his throat as Zayn tugged aside his shirt to attack the spot where his shoulder met his neck, kissing and tonguing it gently. Niall breathed Zayn’s name on a long whine, squirming. Zayn released his wrists when he tugged a little, then caught them again when Niall tried to remove his own shirt. “Gods, Zayn, don’t make me wait!”

“I’m not, actually. Keep your hands still.” He kissed Niall again before he could protest, wet lips and tongue making him forget whatever he was going to say. When one of his legs slid between Niall’s thighs Niall spread them instinctively, only to try to clamp them together again when Zayn palmed him through his breeches and loincloth.

Another kiss combined with a long firm stroke distracted him, but only until he felt his cock jump under Zayn’s hand, rock hard and ready to burst. “Wait, wait.”

“No,” Zayn replied, speeding up. “I want you to come, Niall.” Niall couldn’t breathe; he was scrabbling against the wall while his hips rocked with Zayn’s strokes, rubbing himself against his hand and leg helplessly. “Want to make you come like this, right away, so I can take my time getting you hard so I can make you come _again_.”

Niall didn’t doubt that Zayn could do it; he did doubt that he’d be alive when he finished. He reached for Zayn, but Zayn caught his wrists in his free hand and pinned them above his head, watching with a smug little smirk as Niall’s knees went weak and he sank lower, riding Zayn’s hand and thigh even harder. He licked his lips and Niall came at the sight just as he had the first night in the woods, his whole body jerking in Zayn’s grasp.

After that he couldn’t offer so much as a token resistance when Zayn guided him over to the bed, laying him down and pushing up his shirt to attack his torso. The warmth of his orgasm coursing through his body had Niall dazed and half asleep, but he couldn’t pass out with Zayn’s tongue flicking his nipple until it was perked up sharp and small and shining wet. Zayn nipped it, making Niall gasp, then shoved his shirt up higher and left him to wrestle it off as he sucked and tongued his other nipple. Once the shirt was gone he moved up to Niall’s collarbones, tongue seeking all the sensitive spots that made Niall’s breath catch. He had to break away to kneel and remove Niall’s shoes and breeches, but Niall managed to shake away enough of the haze to unwind his own loincloth, wiping away the mess of his come before balling it up and tossing it toward his dressing room.

Zayn stood and just looked at him, eyes dark behind lowered lashes as he slipped out of his own clothes. Niall twitched. “Mithros’ _cock_ , Zayn, you’re going to kill me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next chapter soon aha ;) xx


	16. Chapter 16

Zayn seemed to be enjoying himself.

He was slowly working over Niall’s entire body, touching, scratching, kissing, _licking_ , keeping Niall poised somewhere between screaming and being too blissed out to mind. Every time he reached the creases angling down over Niall’s hips he’d linger, following the tantalizing lines, only to stop and move away the second Niall squirmed.

He did at least stop pinning Niall’s hands so Niall could be free to touch back, gripping the comforting solidity of Zayn’s arms while Zayn’s legs bracketed his hips and Zayn’s lips sucked up red marks across his shoulders and collarbones. “Zayn...Zayn, the _baths_. Everyone’ll see.”

“Bruise balm,” Zayn murmured, not stopping. “These marks aren’t dark anyway.” He skimmed his teeth lightly over Niall’s collarbone, making him shudder. “You bruise so easily. It’s too tempting.”

Niall slid his hands down Zayn’s chest, then gave one of his nipples an experimental tweak. The groan he got in return was very satisfying. “We could probably explain one. One dark mark, that I got off a door frame or something.”

“Yeah? Where do you want it?” Zayn ran the tip of his tongue up Niall’s neck, then murmured in his ear. “Too obvious here.”

His hands were wandering low again, giving Niall several ideas, but at least one he could use. “Here,” he said, tapping jut of his hipbone. “I bumped into my desk.”

Zayn shifted lower, and Niall slid his fingers into his hair, tousling the thick, silky strands so they fell over Zayn’s forehead. His grip tightened the moment Zayn’s lips touched his skin, pressing a wet kiss to his hip before sucking hard, and it stung a bit but it felt so good, sharp and clear.

When Zayn finished and reared up to admire his work, Niall couldn’t keep still, sitting up to reach for him. “Are you--what are we doing?” He stroked Zayn’s thighs, then, uncertainly, wrapped one hand around Zayn’s cock. “You can fuck me,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice steady. “You can do anything, I meant that.”

Zayn rocked into Niall’s grip, then caught his wrist. “Wait, wait, just a moment.” He got up and went to his clothes, pulling a jar out of his belt purse.

“What’s that?” Niall asked, lying back when Zayn pushed him gently and swung his leg over to straddle him again.

“It’s a salve, for keeping your hands soft in the winter.” Zayn looked embarrassed. “My sisters use it. I didn’t tell them why I needed it, and luckily they didn’t ask.” He lowered himself until he was kneeling across the tops of Niall’s thighs, and Niall mentally told his cock to _calm down_ when it brushed against Zayn’s.

“Keep touching me,” Zayn ordered, lashes low.

Niall gulped and obeyed, setting up a slow rhythm. As he did, Zayn scooped up some of the salve, coating two fingers, then reached behind himself.

“Don’t stop,” he said. He arched a little and Niall realized he was pressing his fingers inside himself, getting himself slick for Niall’s cock, and Niall abruptly felt nervous for a very different reason. He tried to focus on stroking Zayn but that just led to watching the way Zayn’s foreskin shifted over the swollen head of his cock and soon he was chewing his lip and looking up at Zayn pleadingly.

“Gods.” Zayn dove forward suddenly, kissing Niall and pressing their cocks together and Niall couldn’t _breathe_. “You look so good and you have no idea, do you, you think you’re just cute but you make me crazy.” He reached between them and pulled away the hand that was still clumsily trying to stroke his cock so he could grind against him.

“You can go crazy,” Niall panted, arching up against him.

Zayn chuckled against his neck. “I really can’t.” He straightened, and Niall moaned when he stroked Niall’s cock with a hand slick with salve. “We’d never be able to hide the evidence.”

Then he rose, and sank down onto Niall’s cock, tight and hot and it didn’t matter that Niall had come once already; he was already ready to explode again, but he gritted his teeth and hung on desperately, because this was too good and he needed to savor it. He needed to see the long arch of Zayn’s neck as he threw his head back, teeth stark white as they sank into his flushed, swollen lip, and he needed to see the little mindblowing wriggle that Zayn added as he rose and fell, hips shifting in a mesmerizing figure eight.

He swore to himself that next time he’d manage to do something besides lie there and take it, but it just felt so good let Zayn ride him, slow and sinuous at first, then harder and faster until Niall was stammering an apology and coming for the second time.

He knew he should do something and may have flailed around a little, but Zayn just planted one hand in the middle of his chest and used the other to stroke himself, pumping rapidly while Niall chanted encouragement weakly until he spattered Niall with his come.

Panting, they stared at each other, and Niall felt an enormous, silly grin spread over his face, but that was all right, because Zayn was grinning too. He raised his arms and stretched like a cat with a deeply satisfied groan, and Niall realized he’d never get tired of realizing just how stunning Zayn was.

“Next time,” Niall said. “‘M gonna...you’ll be... _no pinning me down_ , damn it, selfish bastard.”

Zayn just kept grinning and shifted his weight, making Niall yelp as he squeezed his softening cock.

“All right, fine, I’ll be just as useless then, but I swear to you, I will eventually keep my head straight after you start touching me.”

They managed to lie down together on Niall’s narrow bed after cleaning up with the first thing Niall touched upon groping along the floor, which happened to be Zayn’s loincloth. Niall immediately rolled over and burrowed into Zayn’s chest, wrapping his arms and legs around him. Zayn held him until they’d both caught their breath, then began pulling away.

Niall clung for a moment longer, then let go. He knew Zayn couldn’t stay through the night, but he couldn’t help wishing he could. He sat up to watch Zayn dress and use Niall’s comb to put his hair more or less in order.

Zayn bent to kiss him, then sent Niall’s brain spinning by climbing onto his lap, deepening the kiss until Niall’s cock was making a desperate attempt to rise a third time.

“Do you have any questions?” Zayn asked, nuzzling him.

Niall struggled to make his tongue form words. “When can we do that again?”

“Maybe tomorrow night.”

“Maybe?”

Zayn chuckled, standing. “Probably.”

He left, and Niall groaned, grabbing his pillow and breathing deeply for the scent of Zayn.

+++

The pages woke to pouring rain. Niall, hearing it, groaned and went back to sleep, not rising until Louis pounded on his door.

“We don’t care if it’s raining! We’re still going into the city!” he yelled. “Get your lily-white arse out of bed, Mullingar!”

Niall staggered up, washed and dressed absently, then toddled into the mess where his friends had already gathered, minus Liam, whom Niall assumed was still with his family. There was a tray for him at the empty place beside Zayn and he lit up, waking properly.

“Thanks, mate!” He sat down, bumping his knee against Zayn’s and holding it there in lieu of the greeting he wanted to give him. Zayn returned the pressure, smiling to himself, and joined the others’ conversation about their plans for the morning. Niall, realizing he was starving, was content to inhale his breakfast and struggle not to laugh with his mouth full when Harry pretended he was capable of doing anything other than exactly what Louis wanted in the exact order he wanted to do it.

They all stopped back in their rooms for their waterproof things (“Louis, it’s pouring. I know you’re insane and hate wearing coats at midwinter but put on a bloody cloak”) and trooped out of the palace, anticipating a smaller crowd in the market district.

NIall didn’t have much interest in the shops, and there wasn’t much to see in the rain. He did stop when he saw a woman selling lotions and cosmetics, letting the others get ahead of him before taking a closer look. He spotted a few jars of the same salve that they’d used the previous night and his eyes darted to Zayn, who immediately opened his belt purse and pulled out a few coins to slip into Niall’s palm, enough so Niall didn’t have to empty his own purse to buy them. 

The woman managing the stall snorted when he brought them to her to pay, then laughed in his face when he blushed hotly. “Delicate skin, love?” she asked, eyes twinkling.

“Yes,” he snapped. “Thank you.” He shifted awkwardly while the woman wrapped the jars into a parcel, and ducked out into the rain as quickly as he could.

They found the others outside a tavern with a sign sporting a spouting whale. The air inside was heavy with the smell and steam of damp people, but it was good to sit and have a mug of cold lemonade.

“Northerners, are you?” the barmaid said upon hearing Niall and Eamon’s accents. “We’ve a black ale that’ll beat anything you’d get up in those mountains.”

Niall looked longingly at the thick foam topping the dark brew, but Eamon was already answering for them. “We can’t. We’ve classes yet this afternoon.”

“But we’ll remember,” Niall added. At least, he certainly would.

“What have you got there, anyway?” Harry asked, nodding at Niall’s parcel.

He fought down a blush. “Erm...”

“It’s salves for my sisters,” Zayn answered. He thumped Niall’s shoulder playfully. “No point being a sponsor if I can’t have him carry my things for me.”

Harry immediately shot a warning glare at Louis, who was grinning. “Don’t get any ideas, Doncaster.”

“No promises,” Louis answered, eyes dancing.

Niall gave Zayn his own glare. “Don’t you go getting creative either. There are limits to what I’ll do.”

Zayn responded with an unholy smirk, and waited for the others to move on to talking over other purchases before leaning close to whisper, “That’s not what you said last night.”

That time Niall did blush.

“I’m sorry, what was that about pirates?” Cador was turning to straddle the bench and lean closer to the table beside them, which was occupied by three men.

One of the men sniffed. “Aren’t you palace? Didn’t you hear? Carthaki pirates hit one of the southern ports, going after a shipment of spices and tea. Happened not a fortnight ago.”

That had all of the pages shifting closer to listen. “We’ve been camping,” Cador explained. “You’ve heard about the attack at Pirate’s Swoop?” The men all nodded. “We were there.”

The men all wanted to know about that; it was fresher gossip. Cador told what he could and the others filled in their perspectives, not bothering to argue when no one wanted to believe them about the immortals and the tentacled beast. Corroborating gossip from the palace would spread soon enough.

Finally, Cador managed to coax the men back to the attack on the southern port. “‘Twere a daft notion, attacking a Tortallan merchant,” one of them said. “They travel armed, and the scum got nothin’ for their trouble. Anyway.” He stood, and his friends stood with him. “Back to work, hey.”

They left, and the pages huddled to discuss.

“Zayn, have you got family near the ports?” Eamon asked. “They might want to move north like your father.”

Zayn shook his head. “There’s not much grazing near the coasts, and anyway, no Bazhir would give up their holdings to hide from a gang of pirates.” He furrowed his brow. “My father didn’t say anything about this yesterday; the Bazhir must not be involved yet, if it all happened at sea.”

“What pirates would be stupid enough to enter waters patrolled by the strongest navies in the Western Lands anyway?” Niall wondered.

“Ones that don’t have to fear at least one of them,” Cador replied. “And, lad, I love Tortall as much as you do, but the strongest navies in the Western Lands belong to Carthak and the _Yamani Islands_. We might even rate lower than the Copper Isles.”

“You’re probably right,” Zayn agreed, sighing. “Tortall’s strength is in its knights, not its sailors.”

“Even the Lioness is useless at sea,” Cador said. The others stared incredulously. “It’s true! My brother Raoul told me! She was seasick for the whole trip back with the Dominion Jewel.”

“Speaking of which, I’m not sure the Jewel would be any good either,” Harry mused. “It works on the earth of Tortall; I don’t know if its powers extend beyond the coasts.”

“Well, we’d better hope this whole mess really is just a bunch of mangy pirates,” Louis said, standing; they needed to get back up to the palace for the noon meal. “Because otherwise we’re facing the Carthaki navy on two fronts.”


	17. Chapter 17

As predicted, the mark on Niall’s hip caught everyone’s attention in the baths.

Unfortunately, no one believed he’d gotten it on the corner of his desk.

“That, young Mullingar, is a love bite,” Louis proclaimed, while the others grinned delightedly. “Believe me, I’d know.”

“Just because you chomp on Harry whenever you want doesn’t make you an expert,” Niall retorted. Everyone looked at Harry, or more accurately at the blooming red mark on his neck.

Harry just shrugged.

Niall thought longingly of a simpler time when he didn’t have any friends.

“It _does_ , actually,” Louis insisted. He rounded on Zayn, who looked utterly uninterested. Niall wanted to kiss him. “Did you see him last night? Do you know what time he got back to his room?”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Look, it’s none of our business what Niall gets up to--”

“It _is!_ ”

“--and a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell anyway,” Zayn continued, waving Louis’ protest aside, “so leave the poor lad alone.” He splashed a handful of water in Louis’ indignant face, leaving him sputtering. “Now may we finish washing? This will be our first proper meal with Lord Wyldon and I don’t want to be late.”

Louis wiped his eyes clear and tackled him.

Niall made a mental note to thank Zayn very, very sincerely the first chance he got.

+++

“There’s a stone statue of a knight in full armor with its visor down in one of the upper galleries,” Eamon whispered, “and it’s got more life in it than Lord Wyldon does.”

The others all nodded in dismay. The new training master sat at the head table eating methodically while performing an unsubtle inspection of the gathered pages. He murmured to Sergeant Valdeo often without taking his eyes off the boys, and the sergeant murmured back, clearly bringing Lord Wyldon up to speed on their names and progress. It was impossible to guess what Lord Wyldon was thinking. His face was the most expressionless that Niall had ever seen.

Those sharp eyes edged closer to their table, and they all were suddenly very busy inspecting their food.

“When I look at him,” Harry said in a low voice, “all I can see is the practice court, under heavy sleet and wind.”

Everyone shuddered.

“I don’t like that he’s brought back saying grace,” Louis added. When they’d assembled, Lord Wyldon has said a long prayer invoking Mithros, asking him to grant them discipline and steadfastness. It was common practice for knights and soldiers and such since Mithros was the god of law and war, but Niall hadn’t liked the way Lord Wyldon seemed to turn the benediction into a reprimand. They hadn’t given him any reason to doubt them yet.

“I don’t like it either,” Zayn agreed quietly. “The custom changed under King Jonathan and his progressives. If Lord Wyldon’s openly defying it, who knows what other old fashioned notions he’ll force on us next?”

“I’ll bet he hates the Gift,” Sigan said, nudging Harry. “He looks like the sort to stitch up his own wounds and then jump right back into a fight.”

Harry nodded. “There isn’t much gossip about him, but what little there is says he’s a conservative to the bone.” He frowned. “He’d better not cut the magic classes. I learned so much at Pirate’s Swoop; it’d be such a waste if all the mages had to stop now.”

“Could he?” Niall asked. He didn’t know much about the intricacies of court politics. “Wouldn’t that be in defiance of the King?”

“Duke Roger’s attempt at the crown wasn’t that long ago,” Eamon said. “King Jonathan’s uncontested now, but he’s been pushing a lot of changes, and the conservatives are still powerful at court. Lord Wyldon could force his hand.” He glanced around. “Where’s Liam when we need him? He’d know better than me.”

They didn’t see Liam at lunch, but he was already settled in the room when they went to their reading and writing class. They swarmed around him, particularly Eamon, who’d been without a sponsor since Pirate’s Swoop. There wasn’t time to do much besides muss up his hair before class started, but Niall felt immensely better. With their group reunited and classes resuming, they could really start to leave Pirate’s Swoop behind them.

Master Yayin, the Mithran priest teaching them, certainly made no allowances for their time away. He quizzed them on rules of composition that they’d learned at the start of the year, hissing when the pages struggled to remember. Before they left, he assigned Niall some Yamani legends to read, raising an eyebrow when his face fell. “Problem, Page Niall?”

“No, Master Yayin,” Niall said quickly. “It’s only that I was starting to enjoy the poetry.”

He returned to his seat under the priest’s bemused smile, and glanced at Zayn, who shrugged with a small smile of his own.

Mathematics passed as usual, but when they arrived for etiquette they were surprised to find Master Numair and Daine waiting for them.

“Given the events at Pirate’s Swoop, your masters have requested that we begin your classes on immortals and magic sooner rather than later,” Numair began.

A few pages looked pale; they’d been looking forward to forgetting about Stormwings and their ilk. They braced themselves for unpleasant reminders, but before their teachers could begin there was a whistle, and the classroom door swung open.

The pages started, gobsmacked, as the tiny dragonet Skysong, called Kit, walked in and raised herself on her hind paws so Daine could lift her. The hour passed in delighted wonder as Kit demonstrated her ability to make various stones glow by whistling different notes. Numair spelled himself invisible and vanished among the pages, but Kit found him every time, walking up to him and croaking irritably until he made himself visible again. Daine provided a lecture on her diet and sleeping habits, and explained that adult dragons were disciplined scholars and mages with clear language and histories, despite their resemblance to mortal animals. The class ended with Kit graciously allowing them all to stroke her soft scales, making colors ripple under their hands.

“You are the loveliest, cleverest darling I’ve ever seen,” Harry murmured, smitten.

Kit chirruped, preening, and nodded to Daine to indicate that class was over and she was ready to be carried back to their rooms.

It was lucky that history with the easy-going Sir Myles was their last class, since the pages were still wonderstruck when they filed in and took their seats. The topic of the day was naval battles, and the discussion confirmed much of what Niall’s friends had said in the tavern that morning: that Tortall’s navy was relatively weak, and likely too reliant on their allies the Yamanis, who could provide aide in a war but who couldn’t be called upon for defense against pirates allegedly acting without the support of another nation.

Rested from their morning without practice, the pages were fairly bouncing off the walls by the time they poured into the mess hall, carrying on their discussions from history class between tales of how they’d used the rare free time. Lord Wyldon’s prayer for steadiness and dignity did little to quiet their chatter; they were all already learning to tune him out, and they hadn’t even had a proper training session with him.

To Niall’s surprise, Zayn walked right past the empty space at his side to sit down across from him, between Louis and the prince. The two of them were deep in conversation with Liam, but Niall didn’t know why Zayn couldn’t talk to them from the other side of the table.

Niall did his best to shrug it off, joining Harry and Sigan’s conversation instead, then abruptly choked when he felt a nudge against his crotch.

He coughed, dislodging the bit of carrot that had caught in his throat, and spilled juice down his chin when he gulped it hurriedly. The pressure on his crotch stayed there the whole time, rubbing him to hardness in seconds, but when he wiped his watering eyes Zayn was looking at him with the same confused concern as all their friends.

“You all right, Niall?” he asked, all innocence.

Niall could have punched him. What blood hadn’t pooled in his groin was flushing his face and neck bright red. “Fine,” he croaked. “Swallowed wrong.”

Harry hummed sympathetically and rubbed his back, which did absolutely nothing to distract him from what he realized was Zayn’s foot in the soft leather shoes they wore indoors, rubbing and nudging his cock until he was ready to moan out loud. “Just, um.” He gulped down more juice, and mopped up the mess he’d made spilling it before. “Just need to catch my breath.”

Mentally willing them to _stop looking at him, damn it_ , he slipped his hand under the table to try to shove Zayn’s foot away. Zayn dropped his foot before he could touch it, returning to his conversation without missing a beat, leaving Niall struggling to focus his eyes and remember how words worked.

Zayn tormented him twice more during the meal, rubbing him until his cock was leaking and he had to worry about a visible wet spot soaking through his loin cloth and leggings. Standing to return his tray when the meal ended was almost beyond him, and he thought thankful prayers to every god he could think of for the evening uniforms with their long tunics that hid his desperate condition.

He was ready to drag Zayn back to his room and maul him, but Zayn grinned at him, throwing him off yet again.

“Let’s study in the library tonight, yeah?” he said. “I really need to stop letting you pick up my antisocial habits.”

The others, naturally, thought this was a brilliant idea.

Niall hated every single one of them.

Words swam in front of his eyes as he struggled to work in the library, and no amount of blinking could set them right. Mathematics were nearly beyond him; Eamon had to explain the steps to him twice before he could do a single problem correctly. Zayn paid no attention to him at all, but he was fiddling with his quill, running it through his fingers and stroking the end over his lips and his _neck_ until all Niall could think about was kissing him, possibly biting him, anything to pay him back for the way his cock was throbbing inside his clothes.

Zayn finally let up after half an hour or so, focusing on his work so Niall could scrape his thoughts together enough to finish his assignments. Niall didn’t look up again until he’d finished making notes on the legends Master Yayin had assigned him, committing the main points to memory for the oral report he’d have to give the next day. When he did, Zayn caught his eye, his own assignments collected in a neat stack on top of his books.

“Zayn,” he said, proud of how normal he sounded, “could you watch me for staff practice? I haven’t touched anything but a bow in days.”

“Sure. I want to practice a little too, actually.” They stood, bidding their friends good night. Niall’s cock, aching now with denied release, quickened again as they walked through the halls. Niall had to stop at one point, checking to make sure no one was around before adjusting himself quickly, nearly moaning the second he touched his cock.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zayn muttered. 

Niall glared at him, grabbing his arm and bolting down the last few halls to his room. He let his classwork drop to the floor and barely gave Zayn time to set his own on the desk before he was on him, shoving him against the wall and grinding his erection against Zayn’s thigh.

“I am going to _ruin_ you.”


	18. Chapter 18

“Thank the gods,” Zayn gasped, pushing Niall away to begin yanking his clothes off. Niall followed his example. “I almost lost it when they wouldn’t take their eyes off you in the baths.” Naked, he pulled Niall close again, his erection pressing into Niall’s hip. Their height difference left Niall rubbing against Zayn’s thigh, not that he minded. It was a very firm thigh.

“So torturing me at dinner was what, revenge?” Niall bit at Zayn’s collarbone, then sucked on the same spot, delighted to see that it blushed only for a few seconds before fading. No need to be gentle, then.

“Not against you--fuck.” Zayn pulled his hips away. “Bed, bed. And where that bloody salve?”

Niall groped under the bed for where he’d tucked the salve beside his guitar. When he straightened Zayn had spread himself out, hard and naked and there for Niall’s taking.

 _Sweet merciful Goddess, you’ve been so good to me,_ Niall thought. “Then what was the point of trying to make me come in the middle of the mess hall?”

Zayn tugged until Niall was stretched out between his thighs. Niall considered never leaving. “I wanted to remind myself that I could, I guess,” Zayn murmured. He ran his hands down Niall’s back to his ass, which he squeezed. “That they can look all they want, but they don’t get to touch.”

Niall groaned, squirming when Zayn’s fingers dipped lower to brush over his sack. “Selfish bastard. Only son, right? I bet your mother and sisters spoiled you rotten.”

“Absolutely.” Zayn arched beneath him with a lazy grin. It made Niall want to bite him so he did, right on the nipple.

“Fuck!” Zayn writhed but Niall held his ground, licking and sucking before biting again. “Niall...Niall! It’s not a chunk of venison, that _hurts_.” Niall pulled away quickly. “No, don’t stop!”

“I want...” Niall licked his lips. He was embarrassed, but he was also hard enough to hammer nails, and arousal prevailed. “With my mouth, I want...I want to suck your cock.” That got him Zayn’s rapt attention. He grinned. “Tell me how?”

Zayn grinned back. “First rule: no bloody biting, you cannibal.” He pushed himself further up the bed, giving Niall more space to move to back.

“The second rule,” he continued, gesturing grandly at his very eager erection, “is that anything else you do is going to feel amazing, so don’t be shy.”

Niall cocked his head, considering, then ran his tongue over the crown, slow and thorough.

Zayn’s entire body twitched and his breath caught. Niall considered the salty taste, shrugged, and decided to see if he could swallow him all the way.

He couldn’t, but Zayn’s breath caught again so Niall figured it was fine. He bobbed his head, getting used to the feel, then opened his mouth to lick all over until Zayn’s entire cock was shining wet.

“How am I doing?” he asked.

Zayn dropped his fist from where he’d been biting his knuckles. “Fantastic,” he gasped. “Now don’t stop or I’ll molest you at breakfast tomorrow, too.”

Niall sincerely hoped Zayn would find ways to molest him in every room of the palace.

Sucking hard got him an almost-pained grunt; bobbing his head got a long sigh of relief. Stopping to flick his tongue in Zayn’s slit between idle musings about the next day’s training produced growled threats, but repeating the move after many minutes of eager exploration, including an intermission where he stroked Zayn all over with both hands while he recovered his breath, produced high-pitched whimpers.

“Niall, Niall, oh gods, Please.” Niall swiped his tongue over the flushed head again and Zayn bucked, smearing wetness across Niall’s cheek. “Your hand or your mouth, I don’t care, I’m close...”

Niall swallowed him again, bobbing as deep and as fast as he could.

Zayn came like a shot and Niall could _feel_ it, the way his cock pulsed hard between his lips and over his tongue. The bitterness of the come was an unpleasant surprise, but he swallowed it, more or less, only making a little bit of a mess when he had to pull away to gasp.

Zayn stroked himself tightly, milking the last waves of his orgasm, his legs drawing up to squeeze Niall’s sides as he moaned, and Niall had to clench every muscle in his body to keep from coming right then.

“Please,” was all he said, but Zayn understood, turning over and burying his face in Niall’s pillow, his hips tilted up in invitation.

Eagerness notwithstanding, Niall had to pause. Zayn’s hole was red, and a bit puffy. “This looks...painful.” It was a little frightening, actually. “Did I do this to you?”

“Um. Well.” Zayn held up two fingers, waving them vaguely. “Last night, I woke up and was thinking of you...and then this morning, again, and I’d left the salve here.” Niall made a noise somewhere between disbelief and being immensely smug. Zayn glared over his shoulder. “So yes, you did this to me, you brat.”

Niall licked him in response, right over his swollen hole.

“Niall!”

“Well I can’t fuck you like this.” Zayn was hot under his tongue and tasted a bit like soap. So considerate of him. “You’ve gone and wanked yourself raw over me. Just how lonely were you last year?”

“Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you,” Zayn groaned. He fumbled around for the salve, shoving Niall’s face away blindly before smearing some along his own cleft. “Rub.”

Confused, Niall stroked him.

“Fuck’s sake, Niall, your _cock_. Just don’t try to push inside.”

 _Oh_. “Well since you asked so nicely.”

It was awkward at first; he’d never been in this position before in his life, and Zayn wasn’t saying much besides grunting and humming and sounding like he was about to melt into Niall’s bed, but the sweet slick curve of his ass was heaven so Niall just buried his face against Zayn’s neck and rutted, so slowly he wanted to scream. After a while Zayn realized he was doing his best to draw it out and did his best to undermine his intent, the bastard.

“Getting comfortable here, are you?” he murmured, flexing his ass under Niall’s hips and making him whimper. “I bet you’re gonna make me wait for ages the next time you fuck me.”

Niall shuddered, speeding up in spite of himself.

“That’s it,” Zayn continued. Niall could practically hear his smirk. “Screw me slow and leave my dick hanging until I’m begging you to touch me.”

“Fuck’s sake, Bradford!” Niall pressed hard, barely aware that he was biting Zayn’s neck and shoulders as he gave up and just came, all over his back and the crease of his arse, rutting into it all helplessly until his cock hurt and he had to stop.

It was a long time before he could do anything besides cling to Zayn and pant. He made an unhappy sound when Zayn finally began to pull away and look for his things, but he did have the presence of mind to go and get him a washcloth. Zayn dressed himself and drew Niall close for a last kiss, slow and tender and half asleep on his feet, and Niall wanted nothing more than to pull him back into bed and not let go until morning.

His last coherent thought as he stumbled through cleaning his teeth was that he was completely, pathetically, in over his head.

+++

The next morning dawned dark and rainy like the one before, as though the gods were determined to have the pages perform poorly at their first practice sessions with their new training master. Niall’s cheerful greeting at breakfast was met with even more grumbles than usual.

He snatched up the honey pot before the others could take it away, then almost dropped it when Louis spoke.

“So your lover lives here in the palace, then?”

Louis was smirking evilly, and the others all suddenly looked much more awake. “What are you talking about, Doncaster?”

“Thought I forgot about the lovebite, eh? First that and now look at you.” Louis gestured at him, inviting the others to examine his rapidly reddening face. “You’re glowing!”

“I’m always like this in the morning! You lot are always abusing me for it!”

Louis waved this away. “You’re glowing. Usually you’re just a ray of sunshine but this morning you’re an entire sparkling sky with a rainbow and songbirds. It’s disgusting. So who is it?”

Zayn sighed. “Louis, you’re an idiot if you think Niall is capable of hiding a lover without running to me in a panic begging for advice, and he hasn’t. Ergo, no secret lover. Now stop torturing him.”

Louis narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying for him.” Zayn just stared at him. “All right, I don’t _know_ that you’re lying because _you’re dead inside_ and impossible to read, but I think you’re lying for him because little Niall has absolutely, positively had immensely satisfying sex in the last twenty-four hours.”

Sigan chimed in. “Are you sure you aren’t just frustrated, Louis?” The first-year grinned when Louis slowly swivelled around to glare daggers at him. Beside him, Cador placed a large hand on his shoulder, silently reminding Louis that he was Sigan’s sponsor.

“And what do you mean by that, exactly?”

“Just that you seem a tiny bit obsessed--”

“Look at him!”

“--and that it might possibly be because you’re a tiny bit lonely yourself.”

Louis nearly turned purple before launching into his own defense, giving Niall time to calm down and start shovelling porridge into his mouth before anyone else could ask him more questions.

When he glanced up, Zayn winked at him, eyes sparkling.

Niall melted a little.

His life was getting complicated, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

+++

Hand-to-hand and staff practice passed without incident, at least not for Niall and his friends. Lord Wyldon watched them from a distance at first, as though wanting to get a measure of the pages as a group, then moved through their ranks, correcting grips and stances as he went. He lingered for some time when he reached Zayn, watching him go through several rotations of blocks and blows before moving on without comment. Niall couldn’t help feeling a bit smug. None of the training masters ever had a criticism for Zayn.

Niall was surprised to find that he was quite happy to take up his old longbow when he reached the archery courts. Daine’s bow had been easier to draw, but he’d earned his skill with his bow through weeks of practice. He was proud of the ways his arrows clustered neatly in the center of his target, up until a deep voice broke his concentration.

“Page Niall?”

His next shot went wide, sinking just at the outer rim of his target.

“Ugh.” He grimaced, then wiped the look off his face quickly; it had been Lord Wyldon who spoke. “I’m sorry, milord. I was caught up.”

Lord Wyldon was as impassive up close as he had been at the head table. Niall couldn’t guess what he wanted. “Sergeant Valdeo told me that you distinguished yourself in the siege at Pirate’s Swoop.”

“He--I did? It was only a few Stormwings, and Liam-- _Prince_ Liam was shielding me--” Lord Wyldon’s lips were thinning and Niall stopped his stammering and straightened. “It was kind of Sergeant Valdeo to remember me.”

“Indeed.” Lord Wyldon looked like he was having trouble reconciling the account with its subject. “Given your skill with a bow, it would be best to advance you to the moving targets.”

Niall swallowed his disbelief and simply followed Lord Wyldon to the other end of the range where smaller targets swung on ropes. The only other pages there were tall enough to be fourth-years; even Zayn didn’t practice here yet.

Lord Wyldon pointed out the simplest target. It was an ordinary circle with the red dot at the center, but it hung from a frame of wood and was already swaying in the faint breeze. Lord Wyldon shot it, demonstrating that doing so made the target swing and twist madly, so it was harder and harder to hit the longer one practiced. It was very different from shooting a Stormwing or a hurrok. The immortals were swift, but they were solid; if he aimed true his arrow was sure to strike. When Niall shot at the target he didn’t get his arrow in at all. It just knocked the target with a glancing blow and clattered to the ground.

Lord Wyldon nodded, as if that were normal, and went back to watching the practice, leaving Niall to scowl at the twirling target.

He was still puzzling over how to adjust his technique when the pages left the courts and probably would have continued to do so through the horseback practice if they’d gone through the usual drills. When they reached the stables, however, the first-years found new gear waiting in the stalls. Padded saddles with high fronts and backs, along with reins, double girths and collars could mean only one thing: the lance.

“Finally!” Louis ran past him to his own horse, a dappled gelding with big, heavy bones like Rabble’s. They’d lagged a little on the ride to and from summer camp, but Niall had a feeling he was about to be impressed.

Stablehands approached the first-years to show them how to handle the new gear. Niall paid close attention, but had to interrupt when it came to fastening the girths. Rabble had sucked in a big bellyful of air, making herself bigger than she really was, and she held it for nearly a minute while Niall coaxed her to please, please not make him embarrass himself on the first day of jousting.

She finally blew out a long snort, allowing him to cinch the girth securely. He and the stablehand got everything in order just in time for him to ride out at the end of the string of pages. A fourth-year that Niall knew in passing to be Dolf of Masbolle passed lances to the new boys. It felt good in Niall’s hand as long as he held it upright, but tilting it even a little made him feel its weight.

Servants had set up a row of quintains for the pages’ practice. Each consisted of a dummy with an arm that stretched out, holding a target with the familiar red dot at the center, and a second arm which bore a sandbag. Lord Wyldon rode at the first quintain, bringing down his lance to strike neatly in the center of the target, so that the dummy spun just a quarter of the way around.

“Strike anywhere other than that circle and you’ll take a buffet from the sandbag to correct you,” he told them. He sent the older pages to practice. Niall, at the end of the line of first-years, had time to see several of his friends get the breath thumped out of them when they missed their targets. He was surprised to find that even Zayn missed. Louis, however, did not. His lance hit perfectly and the quintain snapped in a neat quarter-turn circle as he thundered by.

When his turn at the quintain came Niall urged Rabble into a fast canter; he’d seen enough of his year-mates nearly clouted out of the saddle to know better than to gallop. His lance wobbled madly in his grip anyway and he only just struck the edge of the target, earning a thump that made him knock Rabble’s neck with the side of his lance. She jerked with indignation, rearing slightly, and Niall’s head spun as he tried to catch enough breath to apologize.

“Back in line, Mullingar!”

Niall nodded to Lord Wyldon and finally managed to steer Rabble around to their place, promising both his mount and himself it wouldn’t happen again.

He did manage to avoid injuring Rabble, though he never did strike the target circle that afternoon. Later, at lunch, Louis was all happy grins.

“It’s because he’s got lead in his arse,” Harry explained, smacking the arse in question as Louis walked past with his tray. “He’s like a rock in the saddle, and he never misses.”

“Unlike _some_ people,” Cador ventured, glancing at Zayn. “I’ve never seen you screw up anything. You were all right with the lance last year.”

“I got a new one over the summer,” Zayn said quietly. “It’s weighted with a lead core, and I haven’t got the feel of it yet.” The pages stared at him and he shrugged. “What? All my other practice weapons are weighted too.”

Niall had the urge to drop something slimy down Zayn’s overachieving back. He suspected he wasn’t the only one. 

Zayn waved a regal hand, tucking into his lunch. “It’s only because you lot are so manly and heroic. I have to keep finding new ways to make you look bad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keladry of Mindelan is my favorite heroine and since she's too young to be in this fic I am shamelessly lending Zayn some of her traits to make up for it. Let's pretend that his weighted lance becomes a legend among the pages and that's where Joren gets the idea to give Kel a weighted lance a few years later.
> 
> If none of that made sense to you, omg read The Protector of the Small series.
> 
> If that did make sense to you, I have one more note: Dolf of Masbolle, the page with the lances, is, in my head, a brother of Kel's buddy Domitan.


	19. Chapter 19

“It’s hot.”

Zayn didn’t look up. It was Sunday, and he was making the most of their free day by trying to read on his bed while Niall sprawled next to him and whined. “It’s summer. It’s _been_ hot.”

“But isn’t it supposed to be cooling down for fall soon? It’s hotter than it was when I got here!”

“Should’ve stayed up in your nice snowy mountains then, Mullingar. Now hush or go away. I’ve been trying to read this book for weeks.”

“Can’t you read outside? By the swimming hole?”

That finally drew Zayn’s eyes away from the page. “Right. Because I could focus on anything with you splashing around naked right under my nose.”

Niall grinned, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “And just think, no one will think anything of it if you want to wrestle me under the water or even pin me down.”

The book slipped out of Zayn’s hands, forgotten, as he crawled over Niall’s body, pushing him flat. “Why bother going to the swimming hole when I could do anything I want to you now?”

Niall swallowed. “It’s hot.” Zayn was unbothered. “I’m all sweaty.” Zayn _licked his lips_. “Fuck. Um.” He tried another wheedling smile. “I just really want to go swim? Please?”

Zayn froze, then buried his face against Niall’s with an exasperated noise. “All right.” He rose again and treated Niall to a kiss, just long and lingering enough to leave him a little breathless. “Let’s go.”

He got up, collecting towels and not even bothering to retrieve his book.

“Really?” Niall asked, following him. “Just like that? If I ask nicely will you scour my practice weapons for me too?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Zayn muttered.

+++

It seemed like every page in the palace had had the same idea; the water was already full of pink and white bodies when they arrived. Sigan was stripped down on the bank, rubbing sun balm on his legs while Harry spread it over his back and told him that he’d need to let it soak in for a few minutes before he got in the water.

“Hi Niall!” Sigan called, seeing them. “I can do your back as well while I wait, if you like.”

“Cheers!” Niall said, dropping his towel (well, Zayn’s towel really) and shucking his shirt. “I forgot mine, actually, so if I can use a bit of yours it’ll be my shout next time.”

Sigan shrugged and handed the jar over, but Zayn took it before Niall could.

“I’ve got it. And I’ve still got that other jar of sun balm, if either of you run out.” He started spreading the oily balm over Niall’s back, careful to keep his touch brisk, and Niall did his best to not dissolve into the ground. It felt exactly like when Zayn’s hands stroked over him after he’d fingered himself slick and open and ready to fuck.

This swimming excursion had been a horrible idea.

The hum of arousal didn’t leave him the entire afternoon and the cool water only barely held him in check. It was lucky that all the pages were rowdy, wrestling and splashing; no one noticed if Zayn barely took his hands off Niall. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes when Liam tackled Niall, but he spent it on wrestling with Louis instead of trying to drown the heir to the throne.

It was a damp, happy, exhausted lot that made its way back to the palace as the sun went down. They still had a couple hours before dinner; the days were shortening even if they hadn’t lost any of their heat. Yawning pages stumbled into their rooms to nap, too tired to notice that Zayn and Niall barely made it into Niall’s room before leaping into each other’s arms.

“The bed,” Zayn whispered, almost pleading. “I just want to touch you, come on.”

Niall ended up stretched out on his belly while Zayn stroked his back, echoing his touch from earlier. His hands wandered lower and lower until he was kneading Niall’s ass, thumbs dipping into the cleft to make him shiver. “Gorgeous, you know that right?” Zayn said softly. “I mean, I think I know that, but then I see you, out in the sun, and I just want to snug up between your thighs and never leave.”

Niall hummed with contentment. “Then do it.” He tilted his hips up, wriggling when Zayn stilled. “Do it. Fuck me.”

“Niall.”

“Come on.” He turned over and immediately melted a little at seeing Zayn’s concerned face in the golden late afternoon light. “You like it. I bet I’ll like it too.”

“You don’t--”

“I know I don’t have to.” When Zayn still looked uncertain he sat up to kiss him, lips sliding cool and damp from the water. “You don’t have to either, but if you want to, I want it too.”

Zayn pressed his face into Niall’s neck, scraping him with a day’s worth of stubble. “You have to stop me if it hurts. It probably will, no matter what I do.” He lifted his head to meet Niall’s eyes squarely. “This isn’t a time when you have to be brave, okay?”

“I’ll tell you.” He butted his head against Zayn’s, gently. “I trust you.”

They kissed again, warming quickly. Niall’s skin felt bright and tingly from the sun, like Zayn was striking sparks as he skimmed his hands over Niall’s arms, back, legs. His tongue moved sweetly against Niall’s, stroking the roof of his mouth, making him groan.

“We need you to relax, Niall.”

He felt like he was about to float out the window. “I’m relaxed.”

“Not relaxed enough.” Zayn nuzzled his throat until Niall fell back, then licked and sucked and nibbled his way down his neck and collarbones to tease his nipples until they were hard and hot to the touch.

“Mithros, Zayn, are you trying to fuck me or kill me?” He felt like he’d been hard for hours. It hadn’t been easy seeing Zayn out in the sun with his hair dripping over his eyes and lips and down his body, darkening the trail of hair leading down his belly to his cock, out in broad daylight for anyone to see. Niall wanted to fuck him when he was like that, whole body soaked and slippery soft so it’d be messy, sloppy, frustrating in the best way.

Zayn’s tongue slid over the head of his cock, snapping him back to the present. First things first.

Light, flicking licks to the edge of the crown had Niall’s toes curling, while a long, slow lick from top to bottom and back again had his eyes rolling up in his head. Zayn wasn’t even sucking properly, just _tasting_ him with perfect leisure.

“Hey,” he gasped. “Y’know, you make me come, I’ll definitely relax.”

“Not yet,” Zayn murmured, not even looking up from where he was turning his attention to Niall’s balls and treating them to those evil little kitten licks that made Niall throb.

“I don’t...”

“Mmm?”

The inquisitive hum buzzed through him like lightning. “Fuck! Zayn! I don’t do this to you every time I fuck you!”

Zayn responded by finally, finally, parting his lips and sucking Niall deep, swallowing around him just once before sliding off again. “You do though. You do exactly this to me, without even meaning to.”

Niall gave up, and just did his best to breathe.

The slow, methodical tease continued with Zayn alternating between sucking his cock only to pull away and run the palm of his hand over the head in smooth circles, the pleasure white hot but still not enough to make him come. Niall lost track of how many times Zayn repeated the pattern; he only knew that he was whimpering, almost crying, getting louder and louder until Zayn pressed his free hand over his lips, telling him to bite if he wanted Zayn to stop. Niall barely managed to nod before Zayn started again, sucking him deep, tongue swirling over every throbbing inch.

Finally Zayn pulled away to lift his legs and Niall was so overwhelmingly turned on that he bent easily, his whole body pliant and helpless in Zayn’s hands.

“ _Zayn, Zayn, Zayn, please--!_ ”

“Shh.” The first finger slipped into him so easily he could barely feel it and he squirmed for more. “Gods, Niall, you’re so open.” A second finger pressed in and he felt that a bit more, the tight slickness at his rim. Zayn worked him carefully, whispered that he was doing so well, he was a natural, he was going to love getting fucked and Zayn couldn’t wait to give it to him.

“Please, more,” Niall urged. He was becoming aware of a new sensation, a sort of nudging pressure that seemed to go straight to his balls, almost like he could feel them growing heavier the longer Zayn stroked him. “Sweet _Mother_ , Zayn, _fuck me_.”

“Not yet,” Zayn repeated, and Niall bit back a wail. The fingers inside him spread, scissoring and twisting. Niall gritted his teeth.

“You’re gonna make me come,” he groaned. He felt so open and so wet; his cock was leaking across his belly, seeming to pulse in time with the strokes of Zayn’s fingers inside him, slick and easy.

“Just a little more.” Zayn added another finger, and Niall didn’t know what to do. If he begged Zayn to stop, he really would stop, entirely, and that was just unacceptable. He needed to hurry up, and they needed to fuck, because if Niall didn’t get Zayn’s cock in his arse soon he was going to pop and there was no way he’d survive a second attempt.

His whole body twisted, riding Zayn’s fingers while he threw an arm over his face, biting his own wrist to smother a moan, and Zayn finally broke.

“Okay, okay.” Niall nodded frantically, spreading his legs so Zayn could fit between them and take his own neglected cock in hand, slicking it with salve and pressing in at last.

Niall threw his head back with a voiceless cry and Zayn froze, dropping kisses to Niall’s cheek and neck as he apologized, again and again.

“No, gods, Zayn, don’t stop!” It hurt, a sharp ache that hit all at once, but Niall was blown away by how _good_ it felt, just the right edge to knock him breathless. He wrapped his legs around Zayn’s hips to pull him closer, deeper, until Zayn gave in and their efforts merged into a long, smooth drive.

“Sweet Goddess,” Zayn hissed. “You’re tight, but...” He rolled his hips, fucking Niall slowly. “Gods, you’re tight but you’re so open.”

“It’s good,” Niall replied, not sure why he was surprised; of course Zayn made it good. The need to come had faded with that first burst of pain, but every movement of Zayn’s cock was building the urge more and more. “God, Zayn, go faster.”

The other boy complied, but he still wasn’t going nearly as fast as Niall wanted. It was slow enough that Niall could scrape his brain together and notice the way Zayn was furrowing his brow in concentration, lips parted around measured breaths, so gorgeous and intent he made Niall ache. He yanked him down for a kiss, thrusting in his tongue as he planted his feet on the bed and rocked up.

It had the desired effect. Zayn moaned around his tongue and sped up, his cock pushing deep with every thrust. Niall did his best to meet him but soon gave up and let his legs fall open. His pliancy seemed to drive Zayn crazy. His hips snapped sharply against Niall’s and his lips found Niall’s ear, sucking hard on the lobe.

“Wait,” Niall panted, and Zayn dragged to a halt, breath ragged. Niall kissed him again, harsh and careless, then turned over so he could go up on his knees. He stifled a yelp in his pillow when Zayn licked over his open hole (they were _definitely_ doing that some more next time), then kept his face pressed to it when Zayn pushed back inside, leaving wet kisses up Niall’s spine as he went.

“Wanna mark you,” he whispered. “Wish I could leave bites all over you and send you out to the baths so everyone would know what I’ve done to you.”

Niall squirmed just imagining how it would feel to have all those eyes on him, seeing the marks and knowing he was Zayn’s. “They know it anyway,” he groaned back. “Louis knows, even if he doesn’t know it’s you.” Zayn slowed again but seemed to press even deeper, twisting his hips as he drove Niall into the mattress. “He sees me and he can tell I’ve been fucked proper.” He threw his head back and writhed, screwing down against Zayn’s cock as best he could. “He’s gonna know _exactly_ what you’ve done to me this time. ‘M gonna walk funny for _weeks_.”

Zayn seemed to take that as a cue to speed up and this time Niall could match him, rocking back hard and rolling his hips until he he had to sink his teeth into his pillow, drooling into it while he tried to stifle his moans. He was making a big wet spot, but he didn’t care. There’d be more than one wet spot in his bed that night.

Deep groans hummed up and down his spine from where Zayn had his face pressed between Niall’s shoulders. He reached around for Niall’s cock but held it loosely, just enough to make Niall writhe for more. The tease was a counterpoint to the relentless, driving pressure inside him, every stroke of Zayn’s cock telling him to _come, come, come_ until he was keening, nearly crying, completely out of his mind with need.

_“Not yet_ ,” Zayn bit out, and Niall writhed again, trying to fuck that loose fist, but Zayn just moved with him. “ _No_.” 

_“Please?” Niall tried._

_“Uh-uh.”_

“ _Please, please, please..._ ” 

Zayn actually slowed down at that. Niall nearly choked. Zayn fucked him gently for a bit longer until Niall was clawing the bedsheets, then sped up and brought him back to the brink in seconds. 

Then he slowed down and did it again. Niall felt like they’d been fucking for hours. He was a wreck, chewing on the pillow and reduced to voiceless sobs, when Zayn finally tightened his grip on Niall’s aching cock to stroke him in earnest. 

“Now?” Niall gasped. 

“Yeah, come, _now_ ,” Zayn groaned back, wrapping his other arm under Niall’s chest to pull him back onto his cock, fucking him deep. 

Niall finally let go, burying a moan in the ruined pillow. It seemed to take forever to finish coming; pulse after pulse burst out of him, built up from all of Zayn’s teasing. His knees gave out, dropping his hips and Zayn’s hand right into the puddle in the sheets, but he just kept going, humping the mess, his overstimulated cock unable to stop. 

He heard Zayn moaning his name and knew he was clenching up tight as he fucked out the last of his climax, that Zayn had to be flooding his ass with come, but it was all very distant as he couldn’t seem to feel anything below his neck. 

He had a moment to wonder whether Zayn would even make it back to his own room before he fell straight into dreamless sleep. 


	20. Chapter 20

Zayn did not make it back to his own room that night.

Both boys startled awake at the first bell and Niall jerked so hard he crashed off the bed. Zayn leaped over him a heartbeat later, grabbing a shirt and breeches of Niall’s and yanking them on, leaving his loincloth as he dressed as quickly as he could.

Once his head cleared Niall darted into his dressing room to to dunk his comb in his wash basin so he could quickly smooth Zayn’s hair. They’d have to hope that no one else was in the hall this early, since Zayn was clearly hadn’t shaved and Niall didn’t yet need to so he didn’t have a razor. It was just a mercy that he’d filled out enough that Zayn could wear his spare practice clothes without splitting the seams.

“You stopped in to give me the extra jar of balm,” Niall said, twitching his collar straight.

“Yes,” Zayn agreed quickly. He pecked a kiss to Niall’s lips and headed to the door before spinning on his heel and stopping again, looking Niall over carefully. “You’re all right?”

“Bit sore, I guess. I honestly didn’t notice until you asked.” Niall went to the door himself and poked his head out to make sure the hall was empty.

It was not.

“I knew it.”

Louis pushed his way in before Niall could gather his wits to stop him. “I knew you had a lover, and I knew Zayn was covering for you. You two are _always_ sneaking off together and when you both missed dinner last night I was sure of it.”

As if on cue, Niall’s stomach rumbled. He froze. They’d completely forgotten about the evening meal.

“Gods curse you, Doncaster!” Zayn threw Niall his nightshirt and advanced on Louis, who stood his ground until they were nose to nose. “All right then, you caught us. Now what are you going to do about it?”

Niall was shaking as he fumbled with his shirt. He knew he should get between them, but he could barely breathe. Thankfully, Zayn noticed him panicking and was at his side a moment later, settling his shirt and taking his hand in a strong, reassuring grip.

Whatever happened, they’d get through it together.

Louis held up his hands, but he was smirking, and at that moment Niall realized how little he really knew him. “I’m not going to do anything. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“I don’t trust you,” Zayn said.

Louis’ smirk deepened. “Guess you’ll have to.”

“If you tell anyone--”

“You’ll what?” Louis waved that away, but Zayn persisted.

“I’ll fucking cripple you, that’s what.” Zayn’s voice was eerily flat and calm, even as the air seemed to darken around him. “There won’t be a healer in the world who could undo what I’d done.”

That finally wiped the smirk off Louis’ face. “Mithros, Zayn, I was kidding.”

“I’m not. Niall’s the only good thing that’s happened to me in this thrice cursed palace. You didn’t even speak to me before he showed up and started making friends, and if you take him away from me, I won’t have anything left to lose.”

Louis just stared, but Niall said, “hey,” and pulled Zayn close for a long, quiet kiss.

When they parted, Louis had an incredibly sappy smile on his face.

“I really won’t tell,” he said, and this time they could see the sincerity in his expression. “I was only teasing. I was actually expecting some bribes, which I would have accepted happily, but since Zayn would _fucking cripple_ me--”

“--I’m sorry--”

“--I guess I’ll just have to keep mum. I’m not your problem, though. Lord Wyldon noted your absence and you’ll have to answer to him.”

Niall thought quickly. “We’ll say I was sick, from too long under the sun.”

Louis nodded, looking mischievous. “That’s why you were so quiet and distracted and panting at the swimming hole.”

Zayn rolled his eyes while Niall blushed. “And I brought you to my father, instead of the healers, because he knows all about sun sickness, and he kept us both for dinner.”

“What if Lord Wyldon approaches him about it?” Louis asked.

“I just need to speak with him,” Zayn replied, confident. “Or actually, I’ll speak with my mother first, and he’ll agree to anything she asks.”

The second morning bell rang, reminding the palace that they really did need to get up if they wanted breakfast, and Louis headed out, thumping Zayn on the shoulder. “Come on. We’ll say our sisters need their brothers to introduce them to each other this evening, and you can speak to your mother when we go.”

They left, with Zayn still looking a bit wary, and Niall took what felt like his first proper breath since waking.

+++

To their surprise, Louis really did keep their secret. He never stopped teasing Niall about the “freshly buggered bloom in his cheeks,” but afterwards he’d stick his tongue out at Zayn’s smug face when no one else was looking. He and Zayn did introduce their sisters to each other, giving the young Bradford ladies a belated, but still needed entrance into court society.

Summer cooled into fall, which rapidly progressed into winter. Lord Wyldon kept the pages training outdoors even in the coldest weather (“I told you!” Harry hissed), only bringing them to the indoor practice courts when the ground became icy and dangerous.Tans faded and Niall’s hair darkened to a muddy brown.

He’d been looking forward to celebrating Midwinter in the palace, but was disappointed to learn that the pages were expected to serve at banquets instead of sitting down and eating. For the first few days he worked in the kitchens with the other first-years, passing trays of tantalizing food to the senior pages who carried them out to the tables, but on the fourth day Cador slopped soup over the front of his tunic and the master of ceremonies quickly sent Niall out in his place. He was so focused on not spilling that he didn’t realize whom he was serving until he was already offering Zayn’s eldest sister the soup. He blinked and smiled and tried not to think about the fact that he’d had Zayn’s cock in his mouth the night before.

Zayn’s youngest sister was too young to be allowed at the banquet, but the two elder sisters were lovely and shy, a stark contrast to the giggly Doncaster girls who shared their table. He whispered a Midwinter greeting to them all, and grinned at Louis and Zayn when they saw him.

Presents were exchanged on the morning after the winter solstice. Servants delivered them to their rooms, so Niall and Zayn had gotten each other sweets like everyone else had and waited until evening to exchange their other gifts in Niall’s room.

“Mine first!” Niall insisted. He’d been at a loss as to what to get Zayn and was wandering the shops in a near panic when his eyes lit on a horse figurine made of delicate blown glass with details picked out in gold gilding. Its neck had the high, fine arch of the Bazhir breed. His father had sent him gifts already, including a small purse of coins, so Niall happily exchanged some for the little figure and carried it home cradled in his shirt.

Zayn’s face spread into the wide, crinkly smile that Niall loved best when he unwrapped it. “It looks like Alhan!” he said, holding it up to the light. “I can’t believe you found this! Thank you.”

Niall held his cheek out for Zayn’s kiss, but he was already reaching for his gift. “Come on then, what’d you get me?”

“It’s not much,” Zayn said, suddenly nervous. That only made Niall more curious. He unwrapped it quickly.

Inside, carefully nestled in tissue paper, was a Yamani pendant that Niall recognized. He traced the characters gently.

“‘Forbidden love?’”

Zayn nodded, still tense. “You don’t have to wear it. Everyone would ask about it. I thought you might like to, just, have it.”

In response, Niall lifted the chain over his head. It was long enough that the pendant would be easy to hide under his shirts, but still. “It might fall off or break on the practice courts,” he said. “But in the afternoons, I promise, I’ll always wear it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” He moved closer to Zayn and brushed his lips over his ear. “I love you, too.”

That night, when Zayn slid down onto Niall’s cock, he tangled his fingers in the chain around Niall’s neck, and hung on.

+++

Training resumed after Midwinter. Lord Wyldon, frustrated with a streak of icy weather that forced them indoors, brought the pages up onto the curtain wall to run laps around the entire palace grounds. Niall was soon too out of breath to appreciate how good Zayn looked with his hair blown back and a bloom in his cheeks; he, Eamon and Sigan just did their best to keep up. Tall Harry had no trouble. His long legs sent him skimming over the flagstones with enough breath left over to laugh at Louis, who was not exactly built for speed. The nights were bitterly cold, and it grew harder and harder for Zayn to leave the warmth of Niall’s bed to slip between his own icy sheets, especially when Niall was in no hurry to let him go.

The spring thaw saw them training on sloppy ground. Any pages unhorsed at tilting practice wound up coated in mud from top to bottom. Zayn got a handle on his weighted lance while Louis moved on to tilting at a ring of woven willow twigs that swung to and fro in the slightest breeze. Niall was still struggling with the airy targets on the archery courts, so their friends soon tired of listening to them rant about moving targets in two-part harmony.

Examinations were held in April. Judges, all of them particularly fussy nobles from the oldest, most conservative families in the kingdom, watched as the pages were put through their paces on their mounts and with basic weapons. Niall was nervous until he found out that he’d be shooting at normal stationary targets, and then he became nervous again since it had been months since he’d shot at anything that didn’t twirl away from his arrows. He needn’t have worried. Every page passed the exams, and when it was all over Niall felt silly for ever having fretted. He, Harry, Eamon and Sigan all became second-year pages, Liam and Zayn became third-years, and Louis became a fourth-year. Niall was not sorry to see Conal leave their ranks to become a squire. He and the Mindelan boy had made their peace, but he still put Zayn on edge.

After the exams it seemed like he blinked and suddenly Zayn was commenting on how his hair was becoming blond again. Summer was approaching, and with it the long holiday. Niall realized he didn’t want to leave. Mullingar would be lonelier than ever now. Even Eamon would only be at Fief haMinch for a few weeks before returning to Corus. Niall made all of his friends promise to write and slipped a stablehand enough coins to keep Rabble in apples and salt-licks until he returned.

Niall entertained a few desperate notions of having Zayn come visit him in Mullingar. With his father and brother busy at the university they’d have the run of the estate and, if they bribed enough servants, could almost certainly bugger each other rotten in every room of the castle. He whispered his plans to Zayn on the last evening in his room, telling him about how he wanted to swallow Zayn’s cock in the solarium while the sunrise spilled into the valley below, until Zayn confessed that he’d be spending the summer with his father in the Southern Desert.

Niall was crushed. “The _whole_ summer?”

Zayn nodded, regret written all over his handsome face. “We’ll be accompanying the king for the most part, actually. It’s been over a year since he last visited the southern tribes.”

Wordless, Niall slipped his hands under Zayn’s shirt to his back, pressing him close so he could bury his face against his neck. There was nothing he could say.

They made love slowly that night, with lingering touches. For once they didn’t have to worry about the pages’ baths so Niall begged Zayn to mark him and Zayn obeyed, eagerly, sucking love bites all over Niall’s body until he was marked from chest to thigh with deep bruises that would take days or even weeks to fade. In return Niall bent Zayn’s legs up over his chest and licked him open until he was snarling threats, then fingered him for even longer. He wanted to remember Zayn exactly like this, fierce with desperation, his entire being focused on Niall and the things he wanted Niall to do to him.

When Niall finally sank into Zayn’s body he tried to go slowly, so slowly, taking Zayn inch by aching inch. Zayn’s cock lay throbbing against his belly, dripping precome, and Niall knew he’d be spending many nights with his fingers buried in his own arse, wishing it were Zayn. As if reading his mind, Zayn groped for the well-used jar of salve and slicked his fingers so he could reach behind Niall and press them in, leaving Niall dizzy with the need to fuck back onto Zayn’s fingers and forward into his arse.

He couldn’t possibly last under the double assault but he tried, desperately, hips shaking with the effort of keeping a steady pace. He shuddered when Zayn pulled him close to lick into his mouth for a messy, filthy kiss as his strong legs wound around Niall’s hips, gripping him for leverage to rock up onto Nialls thrusts. Niall felt his entire body twist with a whimper, balls drawing up tight while he clenched around Zayn’s fingers.

Zayn’s free hand found Niall’s where it was dug into the sheets and pulled it between their bodies to wrap around Zayn’s cock. “Feel how wet I am?” Zayn whispered. “How hard?” He groaned, rolling his hips. “My cock’s going to be like a stone the entire time we’re apart. ‘M gonna wank myself raw every night, thinking of you.”

“Mithros, Zayn.” Niall fucked him faster, loving the way Zayn shuddered when he got the angle just right.

“I’ll miss you every day and then every night...fuck.” Zayn’s legs gripped him tighter and the fingers in Niall’s ass worked faster, shoving Niall closer to the edge. “Every night I’ll be crazy wanting you.”

Niall couldn’t help it: he came, abruptly, gasping an apology as his body exploded against his will. Zayn was still trying to soothe him, insisting it was okay, when Niall found himself begging. “Zayn, fuck me.”

“Niall, I’m so close--”

“ _Please_.”

“Oh, gods.” Zayn drew their hands off his cock with a pained moan, and Niall did his best to shift himself so Zayn could slide out from under him. He whimpered when his over-sensitive cock was pushed into the bed, but still spread his legs so Zayn could press inside him, filling him like no one else could, like no one else ever had. Zayn’s thrusts were shaky and desperate and Niall mewled when the pressure forced one last burst out of his spent member and a second later Zayn was coming, panting out his love and his loyalty until Niall lost the battle against oblivion and fell deeply asleep.

+++

The next day Zayn was waving goodbye to him from the curtain wall while Niall tried to smile, hoping his brother couldn’t see that he was leaving his heart inside the palace halls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm not going home. Not really._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> So concludes Year One. I would love to finish out Niall's years as a page, and also flesh out my intentions for the Southern Desert front of the Immortals War, but I have very little time for writing fic so I wanted to at least get this posted. Thank you for reading this ridiculous fic, which is the longest thing I've ever written and just...really self? One Direction/Tortall AU? IDEK, but if you enjoyed it I was happy to share it. Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! Mithros ward you all.


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